Despite already running late, I decided to visit an undisclosed coffee shop on my way to work. I justified it by buying my coworkers coffee too.
Pulling into the parking lot, I aimed for a good parking spot. Somebody coming the other way grabbed it first. Grumbling a bit, I parked in a less-good-but-still-really-just-fine parking spot. I saw the other driver getting out of the car, and she was quite pregnant. Then I felt a little guilty for begrudging her the parking spot.
My biological clock said thoughtfully, "I think I'd like to be pregnant."
"Ack," I replied to it, "what are you talking about?! Quiet down there."
We went inside, the pregnant girl in front of me. She ordered first while I stood in line, staring vaguely at the menu and thinking about how cozy my bed had been.
I ordered a froofy caramel coffee drink when it was my turn, plus the coffees for my coworkers. Once the cheerful counter guy had pulled my drip coffee, I went to the other side of the counter to await my froof. I was the only one in line, so I leaned against the counter and watched the second and equally-cheery coffee guy make my drink.
He squirted it with whipped cream ("Oh that's bad for me," I thought briefly, "but very yummy.") then started squeezing a tube of caramel on top. I asked him, "Can you add some extra caramel for me?"
"Extra caramel on this one?"
"Yes please, that's the best part." He put on plenty of caramel for me with a smile. "Oh, and can you mark it for me? So I won't mix up the caramel high-rise from the regular coffee here."
"Caramel high rise? But this is the berry explosion."
I blinked at it. Oops. He called the drink aloud, and the pregnant girl came over and got it. As she left I apologized to him, "Oh shoot I'm sorry, I just assumed..."
He shrugged. "I hope she likes caramel."
"Anybody who orders a drink with caramel will surely want extra caramel," I intoned philosophically.
He was now making my drink, with extra extra caramel. "You're right: it is the best part."