Tag Archives: Hansel

That’s Hansel, he’s so hot right now.

Today I awoke looking like a cave woman, my hair between an afro and a high-five.

Not as victorious as it sounds, folks. Ordinarily, this would be Gay Prince’s cue but he’s been interstate for a month, damn his unicorn ass. I miss him like the first season of Master Chef (primarily when hungry); and, bereft of distraction, I’ve been left at the mercy of the Family Von Trapp (aka gunslingers, Schwarzenegger and passive-aggressive Cult Boy).

Such is how I came to get my vicarious on with Coffee Guy.

Having ditched my usual bistro for lattes more tepid than Woody Allen’s undies, I came upon Coffee Guy like a mirage in the decaffeinated desert. He served coffee like he served me looks – pipin’ hot and ready to go. Now, this guy looks like a French mime corked before its recommended year – tall, dark and tattooed (with a distinct Ozzy Osbourne hum). He’s eccentric at best, maniacal at worst. And has taken a shine. To me.

A miracle the likes of which Susan Boyle has never seen.

‘See, mornings, I look like Judge Judy upon wind tunnel exit (with much the same disposition). If we graded my mood on the curve – at dawn, I’m the epitome of evil. By sunset, I’m the vinegary miser you know today. And between these ineffectual safety flags lies ‘crusty’ – coincidentally around the time I see Coffee Guy.

Ergo. Ipso facto. Mīrāculum.

He breaks into song when I step up to the counter and recently, has enlisted the help of a yenta to make contact. [Yenta, being the lady who greets me each morning and contact, the taking of said order.] It’s true, I may be delusional but let’s just put it this way … if she aint his yenta, then she’s hittin’ on me, yo.

She looks like Betty Grable and treats her customers like faceless suits. Except for me. She’s been on a steady campaign to charm my crusty socks off, cleverly eliciting intimate details (such as my name) which then make into conversations with Coffee Guy.

Meanwhile, he’s got his work cut out for him. I’ve realised I disagree with men who are attracted to me. I’m tempted to say, “Look, you’re wrong. Here are the reasons why …”


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