When my friend Muffin stopped by for lunch the other day, she asked where Peter had wandered off to, since he wasn’t at his computer where she usually finds him to say hello.
I informed her that he’s doing some soccer thing, but really, all I cared about was when he was coming home with my iced cappuccino. She laughed at me, but doesn’t know how serious I was, how serious both Peter and I are about our daily drinks.
Requests for the sweet, frothy, icy plastic cup of nirvana usually begin somewhere after breakfast, our Iced-Cap-Fulfillment-Mission starting out something like this:
“Are you going anywhere today?”
Peter always asks this question first, because I am the one that usually does the errand running, the shopping, etc.
If met by “No, I’m chaining myself to my desk today”, an inevitable sigh will follow. I know he’s thinking that there will be no sugary drink to suck on today. If I’m honest, I’m thinking it too, while furiously wracking my brain to see if there are any last minute errands I forgot about that will take me near either of the dealers in town.
A ‘no’ will get Peter thinking of some magically remembered errand he needs to do in town. Sometimes we both have to live with the disappointment of no coffee-drink-Today Syndrome. Those days aren’t pretty. I recommend that you stay away.
You’ll know if you’re around us. We’ll complain of headaches, fight strange urges for large doses of white sugar, and will undoubtedly be making up an errand-a-day calendar so we won’t have to go through the pain of Jones-ing again.
Sometimes we don’t even need conversation. When shoes are put on, when coats are buttoned, there will be an eerie echo of ‘Yes please!’ floating from somewhere in the house It’s a secret code. And now that you know, I’ll have to kill you.
It doesn’t matter how cold it is outside. That cold drink is the only thing that will feed the monkey on our backs.
One of the dealers in town makes a better drink than the other. Oh yes, my friends, there is a difference. We even have it down to a special, coded language in order to get our Iced Caps just the way we need – er, want them.
Creeping in the door, standing in what seems to be an interminable line, waiting for our fix, I mean, to place our order. I look around, almost frantic. Is Darlene there? Joan? If they aren’t, there could be trouble.
Finally, it’s my turn. I lean forward and whisper, “Two medium iced caps, please…Darlene or Joan style, if you don’t mind, please?” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice. Satisfaction is so close now.
Only when that first sip through the straw hits my tongue do I think that I will be okay. I’d better hurry and get Peter’s home to him, before I find him convulsing on the floor.
