Fun. Dark. Chic. Coffee. Dating.
I liked fun and dark;
and although chic
had always brought to mind young fowl
in sunglasses and stiletto shoes,
the idea of coffee and dating made me giddy.
Her breath deserved its own horror genre.
“I can’t trust a chick who don’t drink coffee,
or at least strong tea.” She stared at my cup
(black French vanilla with sugar) before drowning on.
“Skinny bitches are at the top of my not to be wanted list.
They’re just too…” Her words trailed off
as she watched me nudge the coffee cup away.
He looked well-groomed,
and his smile could end small wars.
I cradled my cup.
“My children are my entire world,”
he said. “Pedro, Yuki, Omkar, Frieda, Karin,
and baby Albus Serius Gryffindor are everything to me;
their mothers can be a pain in anybody’s ass. But you,
sweetheart, would never have—” The sound of ceramic
crashing on tile made him shut up
(I had pushed my coffee cup away a tad forcefully).
She seemed nervous.
“I’m a tea drinker,” she whispered,
leaning over the table. “I know what you…
Actually, I’ve no way of knowing what you’re thinking.”
She sighed, took a sip of her coffee
and her eyes widened.
“Bitter, sweet, dark and scorching,”
she said, fanning her face with a hand.
“And you drink this on purpose?”
I moved closer to her,
took a long sip from my cup
(fun, dark French vanilla with chic sugar)
and joined the burst of laughter
that spilled out of my date.