Hey Bou

(This one is a repeat sent to friends a family a few year back via email...
but has had a requested appearance for blog land.
For you, Mrs. Heldman! (aka, Sharon :)

So the other day I was patting myself on the back for having become so
very adept to the evening rushes when I work bar.

Yes, I was thinking this fact proudly in my mind while
calmly handling a 20 person rush.

I was feeling so good in fact, that I even thought I would start up a
conversation with the georgous brazillian guy who comes in every day
and always orders a 5 shot Americano with white chocolate.

Now usually I do not talk while I make drinks because I want to concentrate.
And USUSALLY I don’t talk to attractive guys because I end up saying/doing
something extremely lame in the presence of their good lookingness.

THIS day, was different though. I had confidence and energy from my barista
awsomeness and so I branched out and did two things that
(as I mentioned previously) I usually never do.
Scratch that word “usually”. More like “always” never do.
Which is probably grammatically incorrect to say, but I think it gets the point across.
I always never.

Anyways. So I begin.

Things were going really well. He laughed at a joke or something I said,
and that felt great. I think I even managed a hair flip or two in there,
which is impressive when one is wearing pigtails.
The minutes flew by and pulled to perfection, his shots were done.
So I grabbed a clutch for his to-go cup with my left hand and the
espresso shots in the other. Continuing to bask in my glory,
I look over to him to answer one of his questions
about the song that is currently playing.
(The song that I have already have the band playing at our wedding).

As I am brilliantly responding with high magnitudes of wit and charm,
I start to feel something drip on my foot.
However, he is far too attractive for me to break eye contact with
espeicially for something as insignificant as this…and yet …
Suddenly I felt a very hot liquid sensation burning my ankle…
and at that same moment I saw his expression…
it had changed from one of interest and candor to...

The raised eybrow of , “what the????”

I looked back at the bar to see what my hands were doing.

I had just poured 5 shots of espresso into a cardboard sleeve.
AND, since MOST cardboard cup holders don’t have a bottom to them
They had gone right through the OPEN SPACE OF AIR, onto the counter,
And onto the floor.

"How does one recover from this??????"
My mind screamed.

To which was quickly answered by the more intelligent side of my pshyche,
(small, but bold)

“um, you DON”T.”

So not only did I give myself reason #789 why I should always never talk to good looking guys,
But I also messed up my speedy barista mojo.
Now I am back at turtle pace,
making sure that every single sleeve I grab, makes it’s way DIRECTLY onto the cup.