She said it would take only a minute of my time. She could tell me all about it over a cup of coffee. I should have known better.
A pot later and I still couldn’t make heads or tales of what she was saying. Is she glad she lost her job, or is it exactly what she had hoped for? So her boyfriend wasn’t the one for her, or she’ll show him, and he’ll come running back?
By her third cup and my fourth yawn I just about blew a gasket. She didn’t want my help, never really checked to see if I understood what she was saying, and could care less if I related.
The worst part was when she had the nerve to get irritated at the waiter for interrupting her by stopping by our table to see if we needed anything. I did. Needed something. But she swooshed him off hurriedly before I could tell him I wanted a stack of pancakes.
If only I had a stack of pancakes with lots of melted butter, real butter, and maple syrup. Then she could go on all she wanted about whatever she wanted. I wonder if she’s bipolar, I mean the way she’s excited and happy one minute, then depressed and sullen the next. Maybe she just eats too many carbs.
I hope the waiter comes back; I want to tell him to bring me some pancakes. I might ask for blueberry pancakes. Yeah. I’ll ask for blueberry pancakes – with melted butter, real butter. Oh, and a glass of cold milk and …..
“Stella! You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. You always do that. Tell me to come have coffee with you, then go off into lala land. You pay no attention to me. I have to keep talking because you aren’t paying attention; and the poor waiter. He thought you wanted something, but you just sat there and stared at him. I swear, Stella, sometimes I think you’re bipolar. One minute you’re excited and want to have coffee and chat with me, but once we get here you act depressed and sullen.”
“Do you think they have blueberry pancakes?”