This morning some men came in the store.
End of story, thanks guys, good night!
Just kidding :)
So this morning some men came in the store. At first I thought there were four of them, but now I think there were only three. They approached the register, and Steffie and I were to the side by the espresso bars, poised to make whatever toasty caffeinated goodness they might desire. Well these jovial men were in a jovial mood and were in no rush and were chatting and (this may be my literary/I-loved-these-men liberties kicking in to adjust the story here, but I think they may have also been) giggling like teenage boys.
Teenage boys in suits.
They were adorable to begin with. (How Charles Dickens of me was that last sentence? "Marley was dead to begin with." Anyone else hearing Gonzo's voice, narrating The Muppet's Christmas Carol? No? Just me? Okay then...) They were adorable to begin with, but as we listened more closely we realized they were able to be even cuter than when they first walked in, a mere pack of men in suits with boyish charm and playfulness.
Steffie leaned toward me and said, "I think they're British!" Followed by, "Did I say that a little too loud?" Followed by a giggle from me. Followed by a giggle from Stef. What can we say, the gents' giggles were infectious and reaching across the counter.
Sure enough, they were British. Much to my British-accent-loving delight. I took my sweet time making their drinks, as I wanted them to linger at the bar counter where they had to wait for me to hand off their cups. Their cups were marked as one skinny vanilla latte, and two regular vanilla lattes. I called off one of the regulars, then the skinny. As I was making the second regular, I heard the boys chatting; there seemed to be a bit of a problem, but their joviality was undeterred. I asked the boys if all of the lattes were supposed to be skinny.
I think I confused them even more by asking my question (this happens on a daily basis; doesn't bother me except when I'm exceptionally tired and don't feel like repeating myself plus backpedaling with explanation).
They informed me it was okay, and the one with the skinny latte said, in his so cute/want to pinch the cheeks! accent, "Let me try it and see." Moments following his sip he happily reported, "Oh that's nice." Precious!!!!
I finally, reluctantly handed off the last latte and double checked with my UK gentlemen if everyone had the drinks they in fact wanted. Stef and I told them about three times each that it was no problem at all to make their drinks again. They refused us and I peered my eyes down at them playfully and told them, like their adoptive American (miraculously younger) mother, "Don't lie to me." The boys all giggled joyously at my joke and I was alight on the inside with my own joviality.
This entire five minutes of my life just reconfirmed my desire to marry a British man. Mmm hmm.
I imagined why these men were in town--in America, actually--and wondered if they were on a business trip to do some collaborative work with the large company across the street. I hope they are, and I hope they'll be back in tomorrow morning.