I wish more foods were named in the same vein as “I Can’t Believe Its Not Butter!”
You’ve Got To Be Pulling My Leg, THIS Is Ranch?!
Shut The Fuck Up, Are You Telling Me This Shit Is Ketchup??
I Firmly Believe This Is Not Mustard And I Am Horribly Wrong
I Refused To Believe That This Condiment Was Barbecue Sauce, And I Have Been Summarily Flayed For My Apostasy
I Assigned Negligible Probability To This Being Chili Sauce And Have Since Updated
In Which Your Humble Narrator Assumed That The Substance Within This Container Was Not Worchestershire Sauce Only To Be Rudely Awakened From This Delusion By Mysterious Circumstances
I Fought the Assertion That This Was Indeed Slaw, and the Slaw Won
Every morning you wake up, take a shower and blow dry your hair before spending the next half an hour piling it into the “perfect” messy ball on the top of your head. Something that says “hot mess” without saying “skanky” because you’re totally not one of “those” girls. You could get dressed before your first class but you decide that your Victoria Secret pajama pants display the appropriate contempt for the trappings of your bougie life.
After class, you’ll decide it’s time for an early afternoon refresher at your local Starbucks. Ah, your daily escape. You’re there so often, it’s practically your second home. You even know the secret. If you just order a matcha water, it’s only 65 cents for a drink you can spend the next 5 hours nursing as you use the free wifi. Because doing your homework in your dorm room is so pedestrian. You’ll look that much cooler if you sit at the big table and spread your notes out across 4 or 5 seats. Your instagram followers will probably appreciate the aesthetic, too.
And Chad. Chad makes your drink perfect every time. With that dreamy smile and those “dad’s gonna be so pissed” tattoos. You think about Chad a lot, actually and the chance to catch his eye and smile is one of the main reasons you go there. Hopefully he notices how you always toss your extra 35 cents in the tip jar. He probably really appreciates that. You hope one day that he’ll see you studying economics and he’ll come over and say something like “oh yea, economics. I hated that class but I got an A. If you ever need help studying…”
But he won’t. Ever. Because Chad hates your fucking guts.
May this post enter the Hallowed Halls of Sacred Barista Texts.
me on a date: so....how do you feel about dogs...?
them: great :) i have one actually!
me, shoving breadsticks into my purse: c'mon hurry we have to go to your house right now
