All single ladies romanticize about where they’ll meet the next guy they date. Will I bump into a cute bearded boy with glasses on the bus? Will someone find this book I’m reading really interesting? Will a guy on a bike accidentally hit me in a crosswalk and I’ll fall into a coma and he’ll nurse me back to health? … or maybe I’m just crazy.
Either way, I’m not going to meet someone at a Starbucks. There are a few reasons:
- My drink makes a… statement. No one’s going to start conversation with me over my drink. At Starbucks, I order a venti soy vanilla (or hazelnut if I’m feeling CRAZY) latte. What does this say?
- Venti: I’m about to drink 20 ounces of milk and espresso. I’m probably going to pee every hour on the hour for the rest of the day.
- Soy: I’m lactose intolerant. Want to talk about what dairy does to my stomach? Huh, huh?
- Latte: I’m about to consume four shots of espresso. DO YOU KNOW HOW HYPER I WILL BE IN 30 MINUTES?!!?!?!1111???1!/LSLDKFJ
- I generally look like a zombie. I am not a morning person. I do not like to talk to anyone, look at anything, or think about anything before 9:30am. I’m especially not going to do this before I have 20 ounces of latte streaming through my veins. This early in the morning, the chances of a wardrobe malfunction are exceptionally high, too. I’ve been known to put on a shirt backwards and/or inside out, forget to zip up my fly, and even not brush my hair.
- I’m not a good conversationalist. I try to be, but I’m really just not. I… just… yeah.
It’s not just coffee shops. There are a lot of other places where I make a fool of myself and no person in their right mind would think, “Oh, that girl’s interesting. I’ll strike up a conversation with her”:
- Bars: I’m too short for 90% of bartenders to see me. Unless I’m at a table or booth, I usually have to jump up and down and/or wave my arms to get a bartender’s attention.
- Bookstores: I don’t read. I’m “of the Internet.”
- The Internet: I talk about cats. A lot. No one wants that.
- Anywhere in DC during the summer. It’s gross and sweaty.
Moral of the story: I frequently make a fool of myself. There’s nothing that can be done about this. Someone’s either going to find this foolishness endearing or I’ll literally trip and fall into their arms. Hopefully, I won’t lose the coffee because that would just be tragic.
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