It Wants Me

It’s calling to me. Not by name, because no one says my name unless they are a telemarketer or the doctor’s office confirming an appointment. Plus, it can’t really speak.

I imagine condensation building around the beautiful mocha cylinder. White froth danced in my vision.

I could even taste it sliding down my throat. It wants me, and I want it.

But I didn’t get dressed today before dropping my kids at school. I can’t get out of the car in my pajamas. My girls keep telling me to throw the bottoms away, since the holes expose my butt cheeks (or underwear, if I had clean ones handy).

Not fit to get out of the car, I cursed the road crew blocking McDonald’s drive-thru.

Frappe, they can’t keep us apart forever. See you tomorrow, same time.

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