It was a darling little cafe filled with new moms with babies nestled close, businessmen and women lunching, young people texting. I don't even know the name of the place. I stood there and waited and waited and waited. Pretty soon I was fuming. There was one woman making the coffee drinks and she stepped away to handle a problem with a seated guest. The place was steamy with bakery smells and the rain outside. I was considering calling the manager.
Suddenly it occurred to me - if this was Paris I would be loving it! The people and barrista would seem so charming. Oh, the French, so quaint and unpretentious. I remember being in Paris last May and the heigth of the trip was when a french waiter ignored us, looking down at us with distain when we tried to order! I laughed out loud with the memory. Deep breath....
The line began to move. My name was called. It's good to be alive this spring day in San Francisco.
(I've added a picture of my Dearly Beloved and I in a Paris Cafe last May - 'Je T'aime)