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Coffee Tabled

coffee-drinker

The word is no. I am therefore going anyway. Give me what I want, and I’ll consider it.

My wife and I were driving around the big city on a Sunday morning. It was almost lunchtime. We had skipped breakfast.

“I could go for some kibble,” I said.

“Actually,” she replied. “Me, too.”

I was a little surprised but excited, too. We were going to eat out. But where? We took out our daggers and prodded each other, as we are often wont to do.

“Wherever you want,” I said.

“No,” she replied menacingly. “Wherever you want.”

Clink. Clink. Clink. The cold steel of our daggers danced their elegant dance.

“Let’s go to the bar you wanted to try. The one with the fried chicken.”

“The hell you say!” I turned the car around. “We’re going to that coffee shop you mentioned the other day.”

“All they got is coffee and baked goods.”

“Excellent,” I emoted, channeling Commander Kruge, the asshole Klingon from Star Trek III: The Search For Spock. “Perfect. Then that’s the way it shall be.”
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