What are blogs for if not for their authors to share true confessions?

And if that were not the case,

and voyeurism were completely dead,

AND those crafting the entries among said blogs only did so for improving and sharing their holy discipline of writing…

well…then I’d be out of here.

But I’m here, and ready today to deliver a rare true confession: I am a food snob.

Here’s another: I actually like Starbucks most days.

AND YET… another: I make fun of food snobs and those who like Starbucks.

In other words, I laugh at that with which I deeply identify. Take this scene for example. The first time I saw it I felt as though someone had secretly invaded my soul and written the secrets they stole into a script for this particular segment:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cnlm2e3EN78]

As I watched that snippet alongside my c. 1989 hubby, I longed for the world to stop so I could run up, kiss the screen and scream, “THANK YOU. Thank you SO much, Sally, for articulating the choices in my head about the food I eat!” I felt empowered, validated…and, I was prepared to access my new-found confidence.

The very next day, when I ordered my salad dressing “On the Side” rather than digging it out of my bowl or sopping it up with a napkin, I smiled. And then I prayed a second time for the food I was about to receive.

Another true confession: I have been a very particular orderer ever since. Which leads me to my main topic: When I go to Starbucks in the morning and order a breakfast sandwich, it goes something like this between the cashier and I…

“I would like a Bacon Gouda Sandwich toasted open-faced please.”

[I painstakingly make sure the waiter is making eye contact with me while I do this so they can also see that I am holding my hands in front of me, praying style, then opening them as I say the words “open faced” so they understand that I do indeed mean when I said.]

“Okay, that’s a Bacon Gouda…anything else?”

“Open faced, right?”

“Yeah, right. [ pause ] You mean, you don’t want the bun on top?” Continue reading Why English is Hard, or, “How to Speak Starbucks-ese” in the Mornings →