Tall Barista Skinny, No Whip

The Starbucks Barista almost lost The Attorney.

I first became concerned when I found out about the age difference.

"We went to see Eric Clapton."

My eyebrows certainly squeezed together, "How old is this guy?"

Baristas laughed, someone snorted and the girl with the jacked up teeth hollered from the tea station, "Older than me."

My Barista smiled shyly, looking as though she had to tell me something I wasn't going to like,  "He's really old."

"Like, how old?"

She disappeared behind the steaming milk and met me with my drink at the pick up counter.  She leaned forward.  This was serious.

"He's thirty-three."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

I pursed my lips, "Well, that's a sizable age gap,"  I shook it off before I finished my sentence, "but, My Attorney was thirteen years older than me."  I tried to offer it up as hope, but I was starting to slump into my shoulders.  It won't work.  She's too young and he's a pedophile.  What are his intentions?  I have to meet this little man-child, tricky boy in a fancy suit.  Ugh.

"I really like him."

I smiled at My Barista, wanting to shake her shoulders and ask her if she knew about the thirteen year age gap when she first saw him, because God knows he looks like he's twenty-five and how dare he trick us like this?  I wanted to know if he has a predilection for much younger women.  I wanted to tell her that the guys that hit on me when I was in my early twenties only wanted one thing and they stopped calling me once they got it.  I wanted to tell her about how when they did call it would be after ten p.m. to see if I was awake and could they come over?  I looked at her, her smattering of freckles shining and I couldn't do it.  She looked so happy.

"Then that is all that matters."

It wasn't until I got to my office and hit the Power button on my TV, it wasn't until stock prices began scrolling across the bottom of my screen that I realized that My Barista called The Attorney "really old."

Waaaaait a minute.  I'm thirty-two.  Mother.  Effer. 

I put the age gap out of my mind, realizing that a twenty year old rarely finds the love of her life and if she does she usually leaves him when she has her standard Twenty-Five Year Old Meltdown.  Every girl has The Meltdown and it is typically brought on by the age that makes a girl's brain click.  It is when a girl realizes that she's not a girl anymore, but she's almost embarrassed to refer to herself as a woman.  She realizes she shouldn't ask her father for money and takes a hard long look at the boy that she's with, sizing him up.  She may even be married to him and if he was the Love of Her Life on the day she was twenty-four and 364 days, he better hope that he's still the Love of Her Life on the day she turns twenty-five.  Sometimes the age isn't exact.  Sometimes it is the day she turns twenty-seven.  Sometimes it is twenty-four, but one thing is for sure - twenty year olds have not yet had their Twenty-Something Year Old Meltdown and thus cannot yet be trusted in love.

A few days later I met My Barista's sad eyes as she automatically grabbed my tall cup from the stack, "Uh oh.  What's wrong with Lover Boy?"

"He hasn't called or texted me.  I don't want to call or text him.  I guess I know now."

"You never call or text him?"

She scoffed a little, "No."

I shook my head, "How many times have you gone out?"

"Six."

"He doesn't know you're interested!  If you've been out six times and I know you like him, why can't you send him a text?  Send him a stinking text today, 'I like you.  When can I see you again'."

She looked as though her head would explode, "What?  Just straight to the point like that?"

I stared at her blankly, wanting to grab her by the wrist and sit her down at a crumb covered Starbucks table so I could write all the advice I needed at her age on a napkin with a coffee ring pointing out the important parts, "Point blank, sister.  You're letting him go because he doesn't even know whether you like him.  You're giving him all control."

She looked unsure.

Today I walked in to My Starbucks and her smile was bright, adorable, glowing and a mere twenty years old compared to my weathered thirty-two year old smile, "I texted him!  We have a date!"

"Tell me!"

"So, one time he made a comment about how he was my loyal coffee fan.  I sent him a text that said, 'Some loyal coffee fan you are!' and he instantly text me back that he was in that morning.  So, I sent him one back, 'Well, I wasn't here so it didn't count.'"

"Nice!  Flirty, yet not giving it all up.  Well played."

She beamed, "He said, 'Then I require your weekly work schedule.'"  She paused, very serious, "He's not stalkerish.  It was a joke."

I nodded, "It's funny," wanting to hug her for her naivete, wanting to laugh out loud that she felt the need to tell me that he made a joke.

"We're going to dinner and a movie."

The other baristas rolled their eyes, one scolding, "Serious?  A play by play?"

My Barista turned, "Jeanette's cool.  And," she turned toward me, "totally right.  I thought about what you said and you were totally right.  Now I have a date!"

I laughed and raised my voice to address the other baristas, the ones that are not mine, "I saw them on their first date!  I'm part of this whole thing!"

My Barista laughed, "That's right!"

I took my latte upstairs, wishing My Barista a wonderful time with her Lover Boy.  I am not such a romantic that I expect that The Attorney is the love of her life, but he makes her beam and that is all I can ask for.  Every boy is a lesson, a man that teaches you a little about yourself, what you want, who you are and how you will become what you need to be for the man that is out there becoming who he needs to be for you.  I winced as I thought of the highly likely sadness that may eventually settle in My Baristas heart, knowing that she has many boys to learn from, a few hearts to break, tears to shed and the Meltdown that will help her turn a corner.  I shook my head and smiled as I realized that I can only stand back and watch, hoping that the little catches, fits, starts and fissures are everything she needs.

I just hope that she finds a younger version of herself one day in the future and shares a thing or two.

Even better if it involves a latte.