Go Fish

I was in Oren's today, the only coffee shop near my office that's not a Starbucks. Not that I drink coffee and not that I don't like Starbucks. In fact I love Starbucks and rumors about their breakfast sandwiches disappearing from their menu make me queasy. And weepy. Queasy and weepy. Which is why they're doing it. Not to screw with me but because they end up with customers (let's call them assholes) who want nothing to do with coffee and waste precious time and space ordering bacon, avocado, aged cheddar and egg wraps. Sometimes two. But I was in Oren's for reasons that are still unclear this morning when I heard Thriller. You know, by Michael Jackson. And I thought, wow, that would make a great blog post. The smell of the coffee beans. The retro music. The 9:20 I'm already late for work so why not get a coffee anyway hustle. A real moment in time. And then I thought, why the hell would anyone care about my hearing Thriller in a coffee shop? You know, in fourth grade I played the Wicked Witch of the West in my class production of The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy was played by a girl that looked like a troll. In a loose interpretation of the musical, the teacher had me do a lip sync routine to Bad. I may or may not have had a glove with sequins.

Leaving the apartment lately has been hard. I think it's because of a new fish plate I have. If you're wondering whether I've missplled d-i-l-d-o as fish plate, you need to get your mind out of the gutter. And give my spelling a little more credit, although I'll readily admit to screwing up autumn in a spelling bee, but the n at the end of the word is dumb anyway. So as of late, I've come into a plate in the shape of a fish. Which can be put in the oven. It's three dimensional. I think. I never quite know what that means. It makes things sound more exciting. Like IMAX. So what I'm saying is this: if you end up with a plate in the shape of a fish, I hope you like your apartment because you probably won't be leaving anytime soon.