Tag Archives: quirky

May 2, 2014

Losing Weight Like a Champ

My doctor told me I had to lose weight, so I decided to get serious about it. I brought my weight out into the wilderness. Just drove until I didn’t see any signs of civilization. Then I dropped it off, told it to get lost, and drove away in a hurry. I turned up the radio so I wouldn’t hear it bawling at me, yelling about all the delicious bacon double cheeseburgers we’d shared or those ice cream sundaes as big as my head.

I went into work the next day and felt pretty good about myself, especially with everyone complimenting me on how good I looked. Then at lunchtime, my friend commented on what I was eating.

“You look good, but now comes the hard part,” he said.

“The hard part? What do you mean? I’ve already lost the weight.”

“It comes back,” he said.

“It does? How can it? I drove it really far away.”

“Dude, are you kidding me? The weight you lost was all fat. That has more calories than anything else. And with the amount you lost, it can go for months and months. It’s coming back, I guarantee it.”

“Why couldn’t I have lost some other sort of weight,” I lamented, looking up beseechingly at the ventilation system. “What about bone mass? No calories there.”

He shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

“Brains?”

“Uh, no. Best not to lose too much of that.”

“Why couldn’t I have just lost water weight?” I asked, to no one in particular.

“That comes back even faster,” he said. “It’s liquid. It flows. Duh.”

He was right and I kept a sharp eye out for my returning weight. The next day my doorbell rang. There was a box of doughnuts on my front step.

“Sweet!” I yelled. Everybody likes free doughnuts. I was about to pick it up when I hesitated. “Wait a minute. No one’s ever sent me free doughnuts before. Is that you, weight?”

A second’s pause, then a sheepish voice from inside the box said, “Yeah.”

“Get out of here. I don’t want to see you anymore.” Out of morbid curiosity, I flipped up the lid of the box. “Ugh, you look terrible.”

“Do you know what I had to go through to get back here?” it said. “Come on, let me back in. I can’t live without you.”

“I can live without you,” I said.

“Remember all the good times we had together? All that yummy food and refreshing lack of exercise?”

“You were just a byproduct!” I shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the box. “You made me feel bad about myself. People made fun of you, do you know that? Little children called me a whale, because of you!”

“Whales are beautiful, majestic animals,” the weight said, although it sounded less sure of itself now. “Anyway, what are you going to do, eat salad your whole life? Without blue cheese dressing? Are you going to eat tofu? Have you ever tried it?”

“I had it once,” I said. “Maybe I can wrap some bacon around it to give it some flavor.”

“Yeah, you do that,” it said, and snickered.

Finally, I brought it inside, since I didn’t want the neighbors to see. I tied the doughnut box shut so it couldn’t get out, but I knew that wouldn’t keep it long.

I had heard that the gym was a good place to lose weight, so I brought it there the next day. I could see why people said that: it was like a maze with all those weird machines littered about. I got lost several times. I tried to put down the weight and run away but everyone else was trying to lose weight too and since I wasn’t exercising, other people’s orphan weight kept trying to get me to adopt it. I got out of there fast.

I finally shipped my weight to a sumo wrestler school in Japan, where I hope they’ll want it. Call it my good deed for the day. I might even claim it as a charitable deduction on my taxes.

24 Comments | tags: fiction, funny, gym, losing weight, quirky, sumo | posted in Light

May 1, 2014

Unique POV Corner: Interview with a Haunted House

By David Stewart

For this piece, I want to give a shout out to Eric Alagan, since he always says I have unique point of views in my stories.

Interviewer (David Stewart): Thanks for talking with me. For the record, your real name is 666 Ghoul Dr, is that right?

Haunted House: Actually, there was some redistricting last year. Now I’m 8712 Ghoul Parkway.

DS: Fair enough. The reason I wanted to talk to you is that you have been accused, frankly, of being evil. How do you respond to that?

HH: It’s just terrible, David. For one thing, “haunted” has such a stigma to it. People say I have ghosts and for some reason, that’s cause to shun me. How about getting me some help, right?

DS: Do you have ghosts?

HH: Well . . . yes, I suppose.

DS: Why did you hesitate? And why is your wallpaper turning red now? Is this some sort of REDROOM thing?

HH: No, I’m blushing, and thank you very much for calling attention to it. Actually, ghosts are just how I . . . pass gas. Ethereal gas. It’s a problem older houses have from time to time. We don’t like to make a big deal of it.

DS: What about the rumors that your walls bleed sometimes?

HH: Oh, now I’m in trouble for having blood in me? You have blood in you and no one calls you haunted. Look, it’s just for fun, okay? Like a party trick. I just do it to cheer the owners up if they look like they’re having a bad day. It puts the life back into them. They start running around, screaming, calling people. It’s good stuff.

DS: And the portal to an unknown dimension that’s in your basement?

HH: Oh that. A previous owner had that installed to shorten his commute. He had a weird job. Frankly, considering how rare it is, I’d think it’d be a selling point. Kind of like a hot tub with fifth-dimensional bubbles.

DS: I see. So basically, you consider yourself a fairly ordinary house, just misunderstood.

HH: Well, I’m definitely not ordinary. I like to think I’m just waiting for that special owner. So for anyone looking, I’m on the market. And my price has been slashed repeatedly!

(I couldn’t resist the quote from my favorite TV show)

13 Comments | tags: fiction, funny, ghosts, Haunted house, interview, quirky | posted in Light

April 7, 2014

What They Said

By David Stewart

Zack loved gossip the way a dog loves other dogs’ poop. He was attracted to every filthy little scandal and when he came across gossip, he couldn’t help adding his own details.

Not that he would ever take credit for anything. It was always ‘they’. “Hey, they say Brad got arrested last night,” he said. “Drugs, I think.” Brad was the school’s top student and it didn’t matter that he had only been spotted going on a ride-along with his cop uncle. The gossip was much more exciting.

Zack never made anything up. It wasn’t a lie after all, he just took what other fundamentally untrustworthy gossips said, added his own embellishments, and passed it along. But then came the week when nothing apparently happened. Brittany had no news for him; nobody threw up in gym class or got caught making out behind the gym. Helen had nothing either, or Gary, Phil, Victoria or Nell. Even Kyle had nothing new to tell him and Kyle was like a walking tabloid without the ads.

He was starting to get the shakes as gossip withdrawal hit him. He had his own people coming to him, asking what the new story was. That was when Zack decided to make something up, something totally new and so juicy that it would go viral. But who would it be about?

The principal, he decided. The principal was a retired army captain and quite strict. The story didn’t even have to be believable, just sensational. Credibility had never bothered gossips before.

He worked out the exact story and started it the next day on the bus. “Hey,” he said to Kyle, who was sitting next to him. “Did you hear about Principal Brown? They say he was caught smuggling rabbits full of drugs into the country, him and a female Lebanese spy.”

“Wow, where did you hear that?” Kyle asked, with a look of jealousy that he hadn’t heard it first. Zack just shrugged.

“Oh, you know. It’s just what they’re saying.”

Once Kyle had his teeth in the story, it didn’t take long for the whole school to hear about it. It was so successful that Principal Brown even came on the intercom before the last period to assure everyone that he had never smuggled drugs and that he was not the leader of an international spy ring (the story had grown slightly during the day). Zack was feeling good; this was the sort of thing the local news might even pick up.

He was walking home after school, when a helicopter appeared out of nowhere and picked him up with a giant claw and whisked him away. This was unexpected.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a dark room, in a single pool of light.

“Zack Bandersnatch, you lied,” a voice said out of the darkness.

Zack scanned his recent history for lies, trying to think of what this person was talking about. It was a rather large list to narrow down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said at last.

“This morning you told Kyle Pudgybottom a rumor about your principal,” another voice said and Zack suddenly realized there were more people in the room. “You said, and I quote, ‘they say he was caught smuggling rabbits full of drugs into the country, him and a female Lebanese spy.’”

“They might have said that,” Zack said.

“No, they didn’t,” a third voice said, much deeper and resonant, “because we are They!”

Zack was a bit confused by the pronouns and didn’t say anything. There was an awkward silence. “What I mean,” the third voice continued, “is that whenever people say, ‘they say’, they’re referring to us. We start all rumors, so don’t go starting your own.”

Zack thought about this. “Why not?”

“Because it’s our job!” one of them snapped. “People don’t go around saying ‘Zack says’ all the time; they say ‘they say’ and they are us and we are them.”

“Or what?” Zack asked. He had liked making up his own rumors and didn’t want to be pushed around by a faceless gossip oligarchy: a gossigarchy.

“Or we’ll start one about you,” one of them said. “We know just how to do it. It could even start out innocent, like you were studying late in the library. 24 hours later, people will be saying you were making out with Mrs. Vermicelli, the librarian, in the history section.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Zack said.

“Oh, that would just be the beginning. Everyday there would be a new scandal about you. You would never be able to go outside without being laughed at again.”

“Fine,” Zack said. “What do you want from me?”

“Don’t start rumors,” one said. “That’s our job.” Then a large crane came out of the ceiling and Zack was again unceremoniously hauled away.

* * *

I’d like to say that Zack learned his lesson and became a perfect boy, but of course that didn’t happen. Two weeks later, he slipped up and started a rumor about a girl he secretly liked. Sure enough, the next day, the school was abuzz with a rumor about him and the librarian.

Strangely enough, after the initial shock, most people didn’t care. He got a lot of jokes about studying late in the library, but if anything, it all made him more popular. The next rumor was worse. They began to say Zack had peed himself in swimming class. But Zack just shrugged his shoulders and made up a rumor about himself, about how he had been short-listed for a Pulitzer Prize for his history essay on Napoleon. No one believed it, but it increased his fame. Soon the rumors about him were flying and he was the most famous boy in the school.

After Zack graduated, the stories only continued to grow until he was referred only as That Boy. “Remember That Boy?” students would say. “That Boy who won the Pulitzer, peed in the pool, shot his math teacher with a paintball gun, got blasted into space in science class, sold nuclear secrets to the Syrians, saved a group of tigers from a forest fire, kissed all the girls in school, poisoned the cafeteria food, hacked into the Pentagon, and came to school in a kilt that one time. He was quite a kid.”

10 Comments | tags: fiction, gossip, kidnapping, oligarchy, quirky, school | posted in Light

March 17, 2014

The Retail Trail

By David Stewart

The Galacto-Mart had a separate postal code—for every department. It was so big that customers could rent small electric cars at the front and high-speed resupply trains ran under the floor. It could be seen from space. It could be seen from the Moon. It was reported to have its own airport somewhere on the east side. It was big, is what I’m trying to say.

I always felt a sense of stomach-churning awe when we drove past the front entrance, built like a modern tower of Babel. We had heard rumors of the fabled toy department, the mecca of all things juvenile, somewhere in the misty expanses beyond Lawn and Garden. It was our dream to see it, just once, but my parents never ventured more than a few hundred meters into the store, just far enough to pick up their prescriptions at the pharmacy, eat at the first food court and maybe grab some groceries from the borderlands of the grocery department. We begged them to visit the whole store, but my dad joked that it made his credit card hurt to think about it.

Finally, we decided to strike out on our own, my brother Kiefer and I. I was twelve and he was ten, so we weren’t babies, although I didn’t want to tell my parents we were going. There were stories of kids who wandered off in Galacto-Mart and just never came back. Rumor had it they turned up years later, wearing store vests and earning minimum wage.

My friend Jonas came too since he had overheard us talking about it and insisted. It’s not really that I didn’t want him to come but Jonas always gave up on things easily and I knew this was going to be an epic trek that would test all our abilities.

We set out one Saturday morning, when mom would be expecting us to go out and play anyway. I left a note for them in the cookie jar, where they would discover it eventually but hopefully not too soon. It was my secret hope that we would be back first, but I wasn’t confident. We took the bus over and then we were there, staring up at the massive building.

“Hi, welcome to Galacto-Mart,” the greeter/customs officer said. She looked over our passports and stamped them. “What department are you headed to today?”

“Toys,” I said.

She got an apologetic look on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. You have to be eighteen to rent an electric car.”

“That’s okay, we’re going to walk.”

She looked shocked. “Walk? That’s near the back. That’s almost to Automotive!”

I just nodded and walked on, Kiefer and Jonas following and trying to look cool. “Do you want me to at least make a hotel reservation for you near the halfway point?” the woman called after me. I ignored her.

At first, it was fun. We bought provisions at the closest food court and set out, hitting a large book section and then a section of party supplies. We sat down in Stationery and ate our lunch on a table we built out of reams of paper.

After Stationery, the journey immediately got awkward. We hit the plus-size lingerie section and although we tried to go around it, it went on and on and we finally dove in. None of us talked as we walked through forests of huge bras and panties. I was blushing and I didn’t dare look at the others to see if they were too.

Finally, we were out and into girls’ socks, which was marginally better. Jonas started making fun of all the patterns and we all started it, pretending we were going to buy girls’ socks and giggling in relief from being away from lingerie.

We finally hit another food court around four in the afternoon. I could tell Jonas wanted to go back and I started to regret bringing him. We ate lasagna and then started again but it was soon clear we couldn’t go much further. Kiefer was lagging and Jonas was complaining and even I was starting to feel that it was getting to be too much. Then up ahead, I saw computer games and I thought we had finally made it. But when I asked a worker, he said that Computer Games were part of Electronics, which was a sub-division of Household Goods, nowhere near Toys. We spent several hours playing with the games until I figured we should get going again.

This time, we didn’t make it far. Jonas was about to turn back on his own, until I reminded him how far we had already walked that day. Kiefer was drifting off on his feet. We made camp in the Menswear department, under a forest of shirts, snuggling into a nest of hockey jerseys.

We were woken up by a worker wielding a hanger and a scanner gun. He almost got me, but I dodged him and we escaped into the boxers aisle.

The rest of the next morning was spent wandering through aisles of dog collars, road salt, beanbags chairs, and the like. Jonas sat down in the beanbag chairs and refused to get up until I threatened to leave him. There were maps along the way and I could tell we were getting close. Then, just before noon, we saw it over a rack of rakes: the Toy department.

It opened up like a valley. On one side was a fluffy mass of pink and white. Unicorns and kittens romped around and behind it, a Barbie’s dream castle towered up. Near it was a castle made of Legos, wooden blocks and other building materials. There were Nerf artillery and machine gun nests on top.

To get in, we had to roll a pair of huge dice and go the number of spaces it said. My space said, “Go right in!” Kiefer’s said, “Go back to plus-size lingerie.” He started crying, so the attendant let him roll again. Jonas’ square said “Go immediately to Barbie’s dream castle”, which didn’t make him too happy.

We had all just gotten in, when an electric car pulled up outside and Mom and Dad got out, looking both worried and furious. They whisked us away and grounded Kiefer and me for a month for running off. Later, when they calmed down a bit, they said maybe we could back to the Toy department for my birthday.

I hope so. I’ll never forget that place, where the streets are paved with Legos.

6 Comments | tags: adventure, funny, Galacto-mart, Lego, quest, quirky, retail, store, toys, trail, travel | posted in Light

March 12, 2014

Viruses Anonymous – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Viruses Anonymous

The meeting was held in a backroom server.

“Hi, I’m ILOVEYOU.”

“Hi ILOVEYOU!”

“I’m a virus. It’s been 10,036,651 seconds since I’ve infected a computer. I looked in the mirror one day and realized: I’m a worm. Nobody likes me. My whole life is a lie, even my name.”

“You can mutate,” Code Red said. “You can still become a good .exe.”

ILOVEYOU nodded. “I’m trying to make amends. Now I steal private information from gangsters and send it to the Red Cross. It’s just so hard.”

Code Red gave him a hug. “It’s a long trail to walk, man.”

63 Comments | tags: AA, anonymous, computers, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, quirky, support group, virus | posted in Friday Fictioneers

February 28, 2014

The Laziest Dog in the World

By David Stewart

There is a coffee shop in my city that is quite beautiful. It has a large lawn, which is rare for Korean cities, and has a lot of greenery and flowing water inside and out. It also has a large dog outside that is, I swear, the laziest dog in the world. Every time I’ve been there, he’s always sleeping in the same place. He looks like he’s dead, unless you try to pet him, since he’s a bit skittish of strangers. In honor of him, I’ve written a story. I’ve written it in the style of a kid’s story, although of course with my own weird spin.

The Laziest Dog in the World

Marcus was lazy.

He didn’t chase cats.

He didn’t chase cars.

He didn’t attack mailmen.

If his owner gave him a sausage to eat, he would have to put it in Marcus’ mouth.

Marcus was just that lazy.

One day, the dogcatcher drove by and saw him. “That dog is dead!” he said.

Marcus wasn’t dead, just lazy.

The dogcatcher poked at him.

I should bark to let him know I’m alive, Marcus thought. Then, meh.

The dogcatcher picked him up with a GRUNT!

Marcus was heavy.

He brought him to the pet morgue.

I should wag my tail so they know I’m not dead, Marcus thought. Then, meh.

Marcus lay in the pet morgue for hours.

The table was steel.

It was hard.

It was cold.

Marcus didn’t mind.

Suddenly, his owner burst in.

“That’s my dog!” he said. “He’s not dead. He’s just lazy.”

The dogcatcher looked surprised. “He is?”

The dogcatcher felt Marcus’ heartbeat.

“Yes, he is!” he said. “I should have gotten some training for this job.”

Marcus’ owner carried him home and put him back on the lawn.

I should lick his face to say thank you, Marcus thought. He thought and thought about it.

Meh.

7 Comments | tags: dog, dogcatcher, fiction, funny, lazy, quirky | posted in Light

February 26, 2014

I Killed Rapunzel – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

I Killed Rapunzel

I killed Rapunzel.

The hair, it finally got to her. Some say it was the five hours of brushing a day that sent her mad; others, that her conditioner was cursed. All I know is she started strangling people.

She got five cops down on Brown Street; broke their necks with a single tug. Nothing there when I arrived but five corpses, and a single, 90-foot strand of hair.

I finally got her with a poison-tipped comb. No reward; they just handed me a pair of scissors.

Now what am I going to do with thirty bales of flaxen hair?

58 Comments | tags: crime, dark humor, death, detective, fairy tale, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, hair, murder, quirky, Rapunzel | posted in Friday Fictioneers

February 22, 2014

An Ode to Minimalism

By David Stewart

7 Comments | tags: minimalism, quirky | posted in Light

February 17, 2014

Xerxes’ Dinner

By David Stewart

Xerxes is one weird guy. He lives in a house in an empty dimension, with some very eccentric characters like his sentient walls and his courier, Prescient Pigeon. Read the preceding stories here if you want: 1. Xerxes’ House 2. Xerxes’ Neighbors

Xerxes’ Dinner

Xerxes was about to go out to a social occasion for the first time since he had moved to the empty dimension where his house was. He had moved there to be alone, but the real estate agency had moved other houses into the dimension and now he was about to go to a neighboring house for dinner. He didn’t particularly want to, but his ex-girlfriend Penelope, who was now his laundry room wall, was dating the dining room wall of the other house and Xerxes wanted to investigate.

At six o’clock, the neighbors’ Obsequious Otter appeared at the front door. “Wonderful ensemble, sir,” it gasped. “I see you are truly ready for this evening.” Xerxes was wearing chain mail, with a bathrobe wrapped around it. “If you would, follow me.”

Xerxes had been curious how this was going to work. He had not been out of the house in the year since he had come to this dimension. Of course, it was an empty dimension, which meant that there wasn’t supposed to be anything in the whole universe except his house. That was the point. The animals, like his Prescient Pigeon or Obsequious Otter, could come and go but they were animals and he didn’t know or care how they did it.

He took a step out his door and immediately stepped onto another porch. For a moment, he had a horrible feeling the two houses were connected, but that wasn’t right. He’d looked out his door before and seen only grey nothingness.

The door opened and a man in a green sweater opened the door. “Mr. Xerxes!” he said. “My name is Ralph Henderson. Welcome to our home.”

“Dr. Xerxes,” Xerxes said. Xerxes wasn’t his last name and he wasn’t a doctor, but he still considered this his dimension and here he made the rules.

“Ah, I’m so sorry. Medical doctor?”

“Occasionally,” Xerxes said, still determined to be as hard to get along with as possible. He stepped inside, took off his bathrobe and hung it on the hat stand.

“Ah . . . can I get you something to drink?” Ralph Henderson asked, his etiquette compass wobbling slightly off true north.

“Do you have mead?”

Ralph frowned. “I do believe we do, in fact.”

“Okay, anything but that. Where’s your dining room?”

“Um, it’s in here, although my wife Heidi hasn’t quite finished with the meal—”

“That’s fine, I just want to talk to the wall.”

“You mean Bumble? How do you know him?”

“He’s dating my ex-girlfriend,” Xerxes said and walked into the dining room. Heidi Henderson was there, setting the table.

“Ah, you must be Mr. Xerxes—”

“Doctor, actually,” Xerxes said, not looking at her and giving a sort of half-wave. He faced the wall. “You Bumble?”

“Um, uh, well, if by that do you mean is Bumble my name, then, then yes. Yes it is,” the wall said. A tremor went through the china hutch pushed up against it.

“I hear you’re seeing my wall Penelope.”

“Yes, she is your mezzanine wall, is . . . is that right?”

“Laundry room, actually. Two industrial washing machines pushed up against her; big old shelves with detergent and fabric softener on them. That’s her.”

“Ah . . ah, I see,” Bumble said. Another tremor shook the china hutch, almost knocking over a decorative plate.

Why am I doing this? Xerxes thought. It wasn’t even that he was jealous. He sure didn’t want to get back together with Penelope, so why was he trying to sabotage things for her? I think I’m just a terrible person, he thought.

Xerxes turned to see the Hendersons standing in the doorway, apparently unsure what to do next. “It’ll still be a few minutes before dinner,” Ralph said. “Do you play chess?”

“No, I only play one game. Do you know strip Russian roulette?”

“Strip Russian roulette…”

“Yeah, it’s just like normal Russian roulette, but when you lose, you take off a piece of clothing. If you don’t have a gun, I could go get mine.”

The two Hendersons were looking at him as if he were a maniac. The problem was that Xerxes said everything in such a serious way, that no one ever knew if he was serious or not. Even Xerxes wasn’t sure sometimes, which was why he preferred to be alone. That way, if he wasn’t joking about something, it was only Xerxes that found out.

“Let’s just watch some TV,” Ralph said. Xerxes nodded and followed him out to the living room, his chain mail clinking slightly.

During dinner, Xerxes tried to keep as quiet as possible. He had a vague feeling he was doing everything wrong and while he didn’t care, he had another vague feeling he should care, for some reason. So, he was just trying to get through the meal and go home. At least the roast beef was really good. Everything would have been fine, but the Hendersons kept insisting on talking.

“So, Dr. Xerxes, how long have you been in this dimension?” Heidi asked, refilling his wine glass.

“Since the beginning,” Xerxes said. “It’s mine.”

“Ah, well we appreciate you sharing it with us,” she said. “We really like it here, so peaceful and serene.”

“I didn’t agree to share it. I think you’re invading my space.” There was an awkward silence. Xerxes helped himself to some more roast beef.

“I know this used to be an exclusive dimension,” Ralph said gently. “But the government ruled that exclusive dimensions weren’t allowed. A waste of the multiverse or something.”

“Well, I don’t want any company. I just want to be by myself,” Xerxes said.

“Then why did you accept our invitation to dinner?”

“I wanted to see your wall Bumble, to annoy my ex-girlfriend.” The atmosphere had gotten almost frosty. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest, Xerxes thought. That was another reason he hated social situations. Sometimes he had to tell the truth, sometimes he had to lie and he couldn’t keep track of which was which. He could see the Hendersons looking at him with an expression close to disgust and for a split second, he didn’t like himself.

“I’m going to go now,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the rest of the roast beef home though. It’s very good.” He picked up the plate and walked out the front door. It wasn’t until he got home that he realized he’d forgotten his bathrobe.

To be continued…

9 Comments | tags: fantasy, fiction, girlfriend, multiple dimensions, neighbors, otter, quirky, real estate, Russian roulette, xerxes | posted in Light

February 14, 2014

My Barista Loves Me

By David Stewart

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. Or, if you hate Valentine’s Day, as some people do, happy Jeongwol Daeboreum, which is a Korean holiday celebrating the first full moon of the lunar year.

As a disclaimer, this story is totally fictitious. I only say that because my wife reads my blog and I really don’t want her mad at me on Valentine’s Day.

Her name is Sally, according to her nametag. I’m not saying I’m going to marry her someday, but I’m not saying I’m not either. Let me tell you how it all started.

On the day I met her, my day wasn’t going well. If days were rated by cable news, that one would have been Bad Dayocalypse. I don’t remember why now, I just know I was in the foul mood when I walked into the new Java Bean.

I’ll always remember the first words she said to me: “Can I take your order?” Then she gave me a smile that lifted my spirit to the heavenly realm. It was more than just a polite smile. There was something there.

When she handed me my cafe latte (with another glowing smile), my heart skipped a beat. She had drawn a heart in the cream on top! This girl seriously had a thing for me. Things were moving so fast, but I felt invigorated. The day had gotten a lot better.

Love at first sip.

My Barista Loves Me

Our relationship settled into a routine. I went to the Java Bean every day she worked (it took me a week or so to figure that out) and ordered my regular. Almost every time, she would draw a heart in the foam on top. It was like her signal to me that everything was still okay. I used to watch her work, trying not to be jealous when she smiled at other customers. That’s just her job. She has to be polite to them, I would think, over and over. It doesn’t mean anything with them, like it does with me.

Then came the day I happened to walk by the counter as she was giving another customer his coffee. There was a heart drawn on his too! It was almost too much for me. Had everything she had done for me been a sham? No, of course not, but was her love for me waning now? I couldn’t go back to the Java Bean for a couple days, but when I did, she smiled at me as always. I was tempted to say something cutting, but I didn’t. When I got my coffee, it had a string of three little hearts on top and all my anger melted. It was like this was her apology to me.

These days, we’re like an old married couple. I love our banter as she’s taking my money or making the coffee. “Cold weather today, eh?” I say. “Sure is,” she replies. Is that just like her? Boy, I love her.

I’m not sure if this has a future or not, but for now I’m just taking it slow. Still, no matter what happens, I know my barista loves me.