No Offense Taken

A "senior" coffee is fifty-five cents at the local quick service spot near work. I only know that
because this morning, the clerk who took my order charged me for a  "senior" coffee.  Which sent me on an
all day bender trying to figure out what it was about me
that had her take me for a "senior" whatever that is
in their establishment.

My head was covered (winter, dontchaknow) but even if it wasn't my hair is still more pepper
than salt. It is possible she just gave me the once-over and decided by coat (and / or
over-all manner of dress) was just not trendy enough to be anything less than, "senior" Again,
whatever that is to her  (all of 20, if that) and/or the establishment.

I was feeling pretty spry after y long bus rides having worked out the kinks and plantar
fascitis type aches and pains, cause for the occasional limp--so I don't think it was my gait that read,
"senior."

All day I wondered.

 Until I decided that it wasn't my appearance
that drove the clerk to the "senior" key.
It was how I ordered or rather,
how she heard my order .

"May I have a 'small' coffee and 2 oatmeal cookies?"
became, "May I have a 'senior' . . .

That has to be it, she heard senior instead of small.. Yes,
that has to be . .
IT!

#MicroBlogMonday  

Soon-Ah, Very Soon

Simple things, some lovely simple things.

#SixWordSaturday

New Year, New Plan

Click image for more MBM! 

One of the brunch aunts gifted me with a blender. While we were chatting that Saturday,  I mentioned wanting / needing one and she had an extra (older model) and so, now I have a blender. I have spent the better part of last year collecting healthful alternatives and adding more fruit and vegetables to my total intake. 

This morning's smoothie: pineapple, yogurt, cranberries, and spinach. 
  
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

Woke Up Weak

We (me and various members of my extended family--even those who have died) are gathered in what looked like a big treehouse. We are there for a nephew’s 6th birthday party. As folks are getting their party hats on, so to speak, the smell of frying fish and chicken wafts throughout.  

Someone yells that we needed ...something. I hop to volunteer to go get the something. Cinnamon and I get into an uncle’s Chevy Impala. There aren’t any parking spaces, so I double, jump out and ..   SHIT!  

Engine running, door locked, Cinnamon inside.  

Panic explodes on the inside of my head.

I try to figure out a way inside the car. Thankfully there was no traffic in fact, no one was on the street. At. All. Still, my head is spinning with what could happen. Running car. Dog inside. Folks at the party waiting for me (and whatever it is I went to get). All the doors are locked, Futility pushes me to try them anyway.

Sweet sassy molasses, the passenger side door isn’t locked. I swing it open, reach across the seats to turn off the car and grab the keys out of the ignition. As I stand, three women with beehive hairdos approach and proceed to enter the car. Appearing mildly miffed by the presence of the dog slows but doesn't stop them. They are chattering away. 

I am temporarily stunned into silence but do find voice enough to ask what

they are doing. Again, miffed that I seem so dense; as it was clear to them I was the ride arranged by the planners of whatever event they were attending. I stumbled out an explanation that I was not, in fact, their ride and they had to get out of the car. I was still frantic to get back to pick up . . . whatever it was I went to pick up for the party and get back before too much longer.

The ladies with the air in their hair start to argue or negotiate when 

Cinnamon BARKS and I wake up.  

With a headache.

First dream of 2016.

#MicroBlogMonday Go check out Mel's place for more MicroMonday entries.

So Far, So Okay

Happy New Year. So Much Ambition. 

#SixwordSaturday