There’s a woman who works at a Starbucks I frequent who has a cartload of names for her customers…doesn’t matter how many times you tell her the right one she’s supposed to jot on your cup like a dog tag.
This morning though, she really outdid herself since I was, precious girl, angel ahs, idda bidda thin, bay-ba-doll and snoogums-oh ma huna. I stood there like I should have been in peddle-pushers and a stroller while she cheerfully took my money.
The size of a bank with mammy tendencies, and I mean that well since she’s warm and welcoming, and despite almost forgetting what I’m really called, always happy to see her.
Waiting patiently, not my strong suit especially at 5 in the morning, for my Venti Latte 2% to be brewed standing behind a good dozen others, I hear, snoogums oh ma huna, and say.
“That’s me,” without blinking an eye.