The devil may care

"One berry smoothie please", the words rolled off my tongue before I could stop them.

The fellow looked at me as if to say, have you gone stark raving mad G-dog? He didn't say it but I knew he thought it.

I looked him in the eye, doing my best not to look stark raving mad, and said, "that's right fella you heard me. Berry smoothie me y'all."

He looked at me somewhat dubiously for a moment, as if I was bereft of my senses, then shrugged and repeated my order:

"One Biscoff crepe and one...berry smoothie." He said the last somewhat reluctantly as if me ordering a berry smoothie instead of my usual coffee was an affront to his sensibilities, or I'd pinched his favourite Aunt on the ass and said, how about it love.

His hand paused over the buttons on the register seemingly to give me a chance to repent my evil ways and actually order a coffee, but I was resolute in my decision. I paid and made my way back to the booth in which I'd read for a while and consume my crepe and berry smoothie when they arrived.

I'll admit I held some doubt and questioned my choice, but I'm a steadfast and resolute sort of man and when I commit I do so with conviction and so, berry smoothie it was. I'll also admit that I didn't know exactly why I opted for the smoothie over a coffee, hot or iced...and I don't know why now in hindsight either; I just did. The first sip vindicated my decision though...However the resulting brain-freeze I received after a few more sips wasn't quite as enjoyable.

I began to read my book through the fog of brain-freeze but was pleasantly disturbed by the disapproving-berry-smoothie-order-taker who brought my crepe. As he set it down his eyebrow raised slightly, eyes darted to my berry smoothie then back at me, seemingly to question my satisfaction level. I think he figured I hated it as my face looked pained, but that was just the residual effects of the smoothie-brain-freeze.

I'll be honest, crepes aren't my thing usually, kind of like berry smoothies I guess, but sometimes a man has to say, what the fuck, and live life a little closer to the edge. So...Biscoff crepe happened. It was served with honey ice cream and cream, filled with strawberry sauce and crushed Biscoff and topped with caramel honey with a whole Biscoff stuck in the top. Tasty? You bet your sweet ass it was tasty.

I read for a bit then left to go home.

Ok, I'm just kidding...I enjoyed the fuck out of that crepe. It was so much better than I expected it to be and will surely order it again. I've travelled the world and have spent a lot of time in France, the land beret's, revolution, baguette's and crepes. They actually have other stuff too but you get my drift. I've had a few crepes there, it's the done thing you know, and I've even had a very legit crepe in Belgium, but this crepe, only a few kilometres from my home, was every bit as good as any I've had before and I was pleased with my choice.

I ate then read for a bit and left to go home.

Nope, still just kidding. I did read though, for about an hour and a half and once the initial brain-freeze faded dared to sip on my berry smoothy once more. Who needs coffee, I thought to myself. I certainly didn't...And if you believe that you're more bonkers than a person who doesn't need coffee!

I decided a coffee would, indeed, be a welcome addition to my day. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that the berry smoothie didn't hit the G-dog spot because it totally did but just not in the same way as a coffee does and so, tail between my legs, I slunk over to the counter to where the disapproving-berry-smoothie-order-taker was standing cleaning glasses with a cloth.

"Another smoothie G-dog?" His voice was heavily laced with scorn and derision and the word smoothie came out in a disparaging manner.

I put on my most charming crooked smirk instantly transforming my face from the horror most people see to the same horror face but with a lopsided grimace upon it and said, "one affogato, my good man."

"One flat white," he said as he keyed it into the register.

"My good man," I said with a polite clearing of my throat. "That's an affogato."

He looked up in puzzlement, his face contorting as if Beyonce was twisting his nipples whilst singing, if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it, and said, "but...but you always have a flat white."

I gave him my best devil may care impersonation, smirked grimaced a little more widely and simply said, "some rules are meant to be broken, my good man," before sauntering back to my booth like James Bond after meaningless sex with someone he met only minutes before.

My affogato arrived minutes later and the formerly-disapproving-berry-smoothie-order-taker-now-affogato-maker put it on the table and bowed in deference and new-found respect, and obvious awe, for my fearless devil-may-care attitude and the cavalier manner in which I approached my coffee-drinking on that occasion. I was, in short, his hero for just a moment.

And then I read for a bit whilst enjoying my affogato and left to go home.