We Interrupt this Post with an Important Announcement:

I wrote 1698 freakin words of my very first novel for the first day of NaNoWriMo!!!!

That is all. Please resume reading.

This here is a repost, since today I’m traveling to New York City.

Every time I say that in my head, it sounds like the cowboys in those old Pace Picante Sauce commercials. You know, THESE GUYS:

Is it just me?

Anyway, this post from last year seems perfectly timed. A year ago, I was whining about how much I had to do during the month of October, and some commenters very kindly complimented me on my time management skills.

Yeah.

Now y’all probably know me better by now. But back then, I needed something to convince them that I was NOT in fact Superwoman.

So fate brought me a story. I hope you like it.

I hate to burst your bubble, but … POP!
originally posted October 23, 2008 (Remix)

You need proof that I’m not Superwoman?

Girl would not do what I managed to do yesterday at Starbucks.

I made a quick stop right after my lunch date, since I was hurrying home to work for at least 30 minutes before getting kids at the bus stop.

At 1:30 there was no line and hardly anybody in the store. So they whipped up my java chippy deliciousness and handed it over. And I started powerwalking toward the door. The guy going out ahead of me was holding it open, so I picked up the pace.

(Do you do this too? Hurry to “help” someone help you, because you don’t want to be too much trouble?)

Besides walking fast, I was also trying to rip open my straw, hold my purse in my hands, juggle my phone, AND get out my keys. Something had to give. And something did: My precious frappuccino.

Remember how I said the store was almost empty? Almost is the key word. Right by the door, two businessmen were having coffee and shooting the breeze. And I was right behind one of them when the frapp dove out of my hand. In slow motion. (why do disasters alway happen in slo mo?)

I watched the cup slip, fall, and start to rotate. By the time it hit the floor, it was totally horizontal. With the lid side toward the businessmen.

Perhaps I did not mention that the guy closest to me had his sportscoat hanging on the back of his chair. But yes, yes he did. Thick chocolate chip mocha liquid (WITH whip, thank you) flew everywhere. Mostly it was confined to one area, though: the wall by the door, the floor, and this guy’s coat.

He was gracious, but I still felt terrible. It didn’t make me feel any better when the baristas calmly led me by the elbow to another table saying, “You sit right here. We’ll take care of it.”

As I watched them and Sportcoat Guy wiping chocolate off of his tweed jacket, I tried hard not to cry.

(The only thing that kept me together was imagining blogging about it. Y’all are good for my emotional well-being.)

His friend found it kinda funny — probably since he and all his clothes were dry. So I’m sure he was trying to make me and his friend laugh when he said,

“Dude, you’re lucky you hung your jacket on the back of your chair. Otherwise, you’d be SOAKED.”

About this time a barista brought me a fresh frappuccino on the house.

<Sob>

So I did what any Superwoman would do: I slunk out as quickly as I could and got in my car and cried.

Yes, I know I’m a role model for women everywhere.