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.