Woman near the office coffee: “Oh, I like your sweater, it’s so pretty!”
Me: “Aw, thank you!”
She leaves the room.
Man near the office coffee: “I can’t say anything about your sweater because that would be creepy.”
Me: “Thank you, I appreciate that.”
Though, um…if you didn’t want to be creepy, maybe don’t bring it up at all? What with the wedding ring and all…maybe just shut up?
Also, I am apparently an asshole before I’ve had coffee.
Last weekend I found out the farmers market coffee guy knows my name, and when he said it, it left me clitormented (clitterpated?) for the rest of the day. Dude is married, but he’s attractive enough, and when you add in the fact that he provides me coffee, I KIND of want to make out with him. I used to joke with my friends, because his wife’s name is also Smug, so he wouldn’t even have to change the name he mutters in bed.
But I was reading an article about the business, and I found out HIS name is the same as my ex’s, so NEITHER of us would have to change the name we say in bed!
I really think we should explore this. Sorry, y’all. I’m no longer Smug Singleton — I am Smug Wife-Swapped with my Coffee Dealer.
Also, this is disgusting, but it would be fantastic if caffeine were sexually transmitted. Can you imagine? You know how different foods you eat can affect the way you taste? What if all the coffee he drank added caffeine to his…um… contents, and I could either swallow it and get a jolt of caffeine, OR, OMG, what if I could get caffeine fucked INTO me?
Dear. Holy. Jesus. I need a government grant for this immediately. A caffeine-infused orgasm sounds like my ideal situation.
(Nobody harsh my buzz — I know that’s not how semen works. Well. Probably. I should really do the leg work…the open-leg work. OK, sorry, I’m done now.)
Dear, sweet, caffeinated baby Jesus… Coffee.
I can always count on you to ninja your way into my crankypants but still leave me feeling like a lady.
You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar.
Smug Singleton 