STARBUCKS! People love Starbucks. Me? I like it. Not bad. Some of their mocha-y shits make my belly hurt and give me that nasty tooth fuzz feeling but overall, yeah they’re pretty good. Decaf iced latte with extra sugar here, iced chai tea there. I fuxs with them.
The last time I went to Starbucks was on Christmas Eve. My li’l fam was headed up to my sister’s house to spend the day, and my mans and I wanted some pick-me-ups on the way. The drive-thru line was insane, total fuckin’ loserville—
Oh wait, a brief digression: A few months ago, I was in a long drive-thru line at Dunkin’ Donuts. While idling in my enormous dumbass van, a man with long luscious brown hair and wearing a sleeveless T-shirt rode up on his bike (that looked like a chopper motorcycle) and started doing circles around the drive-thru line. My windows were down because it was nice out, and I heard him shouting, “LOOK AT THIS FUCKIN’ LOSERVILLE! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” And now I will forever call drive-thru lines “fucking loservilles” because dude was clearly unhinged but also 1000% spot-on, what the fuck was we doing?!??)
OK back to the Christmas Eve story. We weren’t going to sit in Starbucks loserville, so I told Dirt (that’s my husband’s name, Dirt) to pop into the lot and I’d run in, order our drinks in person, and save us some time. Dirt did. I ran in. I ordered our drinks in person. But I did not save us any time.
Turns out that if a drive-thru line is very long, and it’s Christmas Eve in a big ass shopping development, ordering in person at Starbucks will take forever, too. And it’s far worse than sitting in loserville because—rather than breathing in your own germs, in the comfort of your own car—you’re breathing in strangers’ germs, in the discomfort of a poorly ventilated strip mall Starbucks.
No, who knows, maybe their ventilation is freaking sweet. Could be. Still, there were a bunch of maskless people in there, and who wants covid for Christmas?? Surely not I. I got the impression people were waiting about 20-30 minutes for their orders, so I stepped outside to wait for mine.
There was only one other person waiting for their order, a lady in a mask who looked to be about my age. A kindred spirit! I made conversation.
Me, feigning exasperation: Whoa, crazy in there, huh? What’s up?
Her: Yeah, nuts!
Me: Finishing up some last minute Chwis—uh, Christmas shopping?
Her: No, I finished mine over the summer. I had twins a week ago, so I knew I’d need to get my shopping done early.
Y’ALL! YOU ALL! ALL OF YOU! This woman was out in the world a mere seven days after giving birth to two children! And she was a first-time mom! Homegirl really popped two humans out her belly, brought ’em home, and was already out living her life, drinking Starbucks and everything!!!
When I first became a mom, it was only to one sweet, squealing mandrake, and I still didn’t leave the crib for weeks. Pachinko was torn up, butthole was inside out, body was sleep deprived and amped up on hormones. You might be thinking “Oh blah blah blah cry me river! Tired new mom, tale as old as time, thank u next!” Well, if so, then middle finger to you and your hatin’ ass. Becoming a parent is intense as hell. Except for this ho, I guess.
We chatted some more and she told me that breastfeeding was the hardest part so far because her milk hadn’t fully come in yet. Then I got an idea.
An awful idea.
Mama Mungus got a wonderful, awful idea.
Her: And you know, there’s two of them, so I need double the milk.
Me: Ugh, yeah that must be wicked hard. Well—if you want it—I have a bunch of milk in my freezer. My daughter won’t really take bottles, so I haven’t used anything I’ve pumped. It’s yours for the taking!
And that was it. The conversation stopped. Neither of us said another word.
I can’t imagine why. Perhaps because I HAD JUST OFFERED A COMPLETE STRANGER FROZEN BAGS OF MY OWN BODILY FLUIDS. ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
HO, HO, HO, MERRY CHRISTMAS! HERE’S SOME MAMMARY MILK I PUMPED OUT MY TIDDIES AND FROZE IN PLASTIC BAGS AND SLIPPED UNDER YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE. GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN!!!!!!