(I put this on my Facebook fan page yesterday, but since I don't know the overlap between here and there, I'm erring on the side of caution and cross-posting, largely because this still makes me giggle twenty-four hours later.)
Barista: Here’s your wet cappuccino. (hands cup to me) How does it feel? Is it wet enough?
Me: (bursting into inappropriate laughter because I am emotionally stunted, despite my best efforts)
Barista: I’m sorry, is that not wet enough for you?
Me: (dying, sputtering, choking)
Barista: Is everything okay?
Me: (composing myself) Yes, but… did that not sound super dirty to you?
Barista: I’m sorry?
Me: That just sounded super dirty. What you said was-
Fletch: Stop talking.
Barista: I don’t get it.
Me: You said-
Fletch: Stop. No. Please. Stop talking, I beg of you.
Me: But she said-
Fletch: You. Out the door. Take your cappuccino and go. Don’t try to explain, you’re only making it worse. There is no recovering from this. Go. Run. Now.
Today’s moment of shame is brought to you by Starbucks.