Wes and I were driving to church last Sunday, and had just stopped to grab a cup of coffee for me on the way.  That particular Sunday morning was a busy one, and I hadn’t had time to finish my requisite two cups of decaf coffee before we left.  Wes, being a pretty smart guy, knew it was wiser to stop and let me get coffee than it would have been to make me try to be nice without my fix java.

I can stop whenever I want to though.  I don’t have a problem.  Really.

Anyway, we had a choice between a Starbucks and a local independent coffee shop.  I chose the independent one, and as I cradled my drug decaf mocha in my hands, I remarked how pleased I was to have chosen the independent shop.  Having been a barista once or twice (or five times) in my life, I know how I like my coffee.

I told Wes that I think Starbucks coffee is fine, but they never steam the milk hot enough for my satisfaction.  I like my latte piping hot, so that when it cools it’s still hot enough to be coffee.  I feel like Starbucks steams their milk just past the point of warmth, and then when it inevitably cools as you drink it it’s unpleasantly tepid.

He replied that he thinks Starbucks steams their milk plenty hot, and that he’s never had a problem with it before.  I scoffed, and told him that that was likely because he has a baby mouth that’s extremely sensitive to heat and is, as such, not up to the task of handling real coffee.

For some reason he took offense to this.

Here’s how the rest of the conversation progressed:

Wes: I do not have a baby mouth!  I just have a mouth that hasn’t been scorched every morning for the last decade and a half!

Erika: *giggles* Yeah, that’s true.  My mouth is tough and grizzled, like a Vietnam War veteran.

Wes: Wait, what?

Erika: My mouth was wading through rice paddies and tramping through the jungle while your mouth was comfortably ensconced in a garage inventing the Internet!

Wes: …

Erika: Freaking yuppie mouth.

Wes: Well, I guess that’s better than baby mouth.

Erika: Indeed.  I’m going to have to blog about this conversation, aren’t I?

Wes: If you must.

Erika: I must.

And there you have it.  Yet one more example of how I really am as strange in person as I am online.

Scene: Casa de Mitchell, Aidan’s bedtime.  Erika is sitting on the bed with Aidan, with a mirror at her back, while Wes washes out a medicine dropper in the adjoining bathroom.

Wes is running water in the sink when Erika catches a glimpse of herself sitting on the bed from behind.  She frowns.

Erika: This is just not the best angle for me.  I think I look really fat from behind at this angle, don’t you think?

Wes: Yeah, totally

Erika: *Mouth hangs open*

Wes: *Oblivious, continues to putter around the room until he notices Erika’s expression*

Wes: Wait.  I wasn’t really paying attention, I have “Stop Calling” stuck in my head.  What did I just agree to?

Erika: You just agreed that I look fat from behind.

Wes: Wait, NO!

Erika: I’m SO BLOGGING THIS.  *She flies down the stairs to her computer to start typing feverishly while Wes hang his head in chagrin and Aidan eats his feet*

End scene. And also, possibly, Wes’ clean laundry for awhile.