I went out to lunch with Charlie today, only I didn’t get lunch because I had leftover Indian food from a training session I didn’t attend yesterday. I went out to lunch with Charlie because I wanted to get out of my office and get a decent coffee for a change (the stuff they sell at the coffee cart on campus is inconsistent–usually leaning more towards the bad side than the good side).
Anyway. I ordered a Yankee Dog–something I’d never tried nor heard of. (Of course I asked what it was before I ordered. I’m not that stupid.) It’s an americano with foam. It sounded appealing because I usually put cream in my americanos anyway and I thought it would save me a step in the whole coffee-getting scenario.
Turns out foam is foam, regardless of whether it sits on top of a lattee, cappacino, or ocean water. There’s just something very unlikable about foam–the way it just sits there and refuses to mingle with the rest of my cup’s contents. Foam is very much into isolation. Foam is indifferent towards its surroundings. Foam is reluctant to change. Foam hugs the walls. Foam never returns to what it was before it was changed to its present state.
Me and foam–we’re pretty similar these days. Imagine that.