Dear beloved readers,

As my favorite weather decorates outside, I can’t help the need that spreads over me, the one that calls me to stay in bed all day and simply enjoy the rain hitting against the window, while some stupid movie plays along the TV. And you know what? That’s what I intend on doing as soon as I am done with the post, and the bagel I just ordered. 

I want to talk about something that happened last week with me and Big. Every Sunday morning, it’s part of our routine to dress up casually and go have breakfast at this local place we love. It’s not the fanciest place, we can’t even dine in – but we love to order our food and eat in the parking lot inside the car. The reason why I particularly love this place so much, is because it has the best Iced Mocha I’ve ever tried. And I don’t say this lightly. I’ve been a fan of the Starbucks Mocha for over a decade, I wouldn’t fuck around ever and have anything else. But then…Big took me there and I tried what I can only describe as the best flavored coffee I’ve ever tasted. I was hooked ever since. 

On the short drive over there, Big always jokes about how antsy I am to just get my coffee. And he is right, I spend every day of the week while sipping my homemade version of a Mocha, literally fantasizing about this coffee, it is that serious. So when those glorious Sunday morning arrive, by the time we sit on the car my stomach is growling for that breakfast. 

So last week wasn’t different. We woke up, got dressed, and went out for our breakfast. Ordered our usuals, and waited. The lady at the counter handed Big’s coffee first – cold brew, one pump mocha, no milk, less ice. I was salivating the minute he took his first sip. And as I stood there waiting for my almond milk, iced mocha, as the lady finally called my name, my stomach sank at the sight of the cup she was holding. 

The liquid was paler than I am. There was no way in hell that was an actual mocha. Realizing she forgot the syrup, I simply asked, very politely, dribbling my social anxiety, if by any chance, she forgot to put the syrup. And harshly, she denied and lied straight to my face. 

What happened after, I am not proud of, some will call me bratty and ridiculous, but if you took your morning coffee as seriously as I do, you’d understand. I didn’t insist against her lie, but my mood instantly got cloudy, with no chance of sun-rays reappearing anytime soon. 

Big’s first move was to offer me his coffee. It was an act of love since he doesn’t drink any sort of milk and mine was basically pure milk, from the looks of it. I denied, moody, unhappy, and completely devastated. Apparently dramatic as hell too. When I get angry, I don’t throw fits, I don’t cry (well, sometimes I do cry), but I do get quiet. Mute. Completely silent. In the span of ten minutes, I went from singing along The Killers on the radio (it was Mr. Brightside, if you are wondering), to completely, and utterly silent. Big, well, Big panicked thinking the lady had ruined our weekend, and proceeded to do something I very much appreciated, but wasn’t going to fall for it, he began a monologue about how much of a lier that lady was and how that was unacceptable. He was trying to get me to at least mumble my agreements, but I was marinating on my anger. 

And so he said, “We are going to buy chocolate syrup right now.”

I rolled my eyes, looking out the window, “Don’t be stupid. It’s just coffee, I am over it.”

“Then give me a smile?” 

I didn’t move, “I don’t feel like smiling.”

“Okay, so we are getting the syrup, I can’t see you that way.” 

The rest of the trip home was exactly like this, us going back and forth about buying the syrup or not buying the syrup, Big repeating over and over “I can’t see you like this” while I insisted I was more than fine. I wasn’t, at all, but I didn’t want to buy the damn syrup, it wouldn’t be the right kind, it wouldn’t be the same as I expected. 

As we approached my street and were about to take a turn into the parking lot, he drove right over it, straight into the Walgreens on the other side of the street. 

“What are you doing? I said it’s fine.”

He laughed, “Well, clearly it’s not. And I can’t see you like that.” 

I rolled my eyes, “You realize this is a pharmacy, right? There’s no way a place that sells medicine for diabetes will sell chocolate syrup.” 

And at that, he finally laughed, realizing then and there he was about to force the Sun out himself, “That’s how it works, they sell the poison and the cure. I am sure they have the syrup there, let’s go.” 

I hesitated about arguing further. For one, he is from here, therefore knows the Walgreens inventory better than I do. But also because I knew there was no way in hell this man would lie to me about the syrup being there knowing I couldn’t handle any more disappointment. 

And so we went inside, me stomping my feet on the ground, partially embarrassed about the little tantrum, definitely wanting to smile now, while Big was all smiles, certain he was about to fix the entire situation, and laughing his ass off at the change in my expression the minute that he gave me the biggest “aha!” ever, when right there, on aisle 15, Hershey’s chocolate syrup was sitting. 

He clutched to that syrup as if saying, “Come right with me little dude, we are saving the day.” 

And I, on the other hand, now couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, and partially because this was classic Big, showing me how much he loves me through those tiny, amazing acts. 

At the parking lot, on the way to the car, and bearing only smiles, he couldn’t stop laughing at how happy I was all the sudden, so amused at how easy it was to fix my temperament, he couldn’t even quit the laughter to turn on the car and drive. 

Moments later, sitting on the stools at the kitchen, I properly mixed the syrup, still partially worried that it wouldn’t taste the same, but when my mouth tasted it, my eyebrows immediately rose with the realization that this was exactly it. 

Mood fully settled into a happiness beyond compare, Big opened his arms for me to sit on his lap, “There’s my girlfriend.” I kissed and thanked him over and over, and laughed at his next laugh, “Now do mine.” And I did, squirting the syrup in his cup that already had plenty, and we proceeded to have an amazing weekend. 

I am writing this because sometimes, I get so deep in my own head, and it’s rare that I find myself absolutely confident and sure of what love is. I spent so long writing about it, wondering about it, suffering in the whole process, rarely making a concrete discovery. But turns out, love is just as simple as getting chocolate syrup at the pharmacy, it barely makes sense for it to be there, but at the same time, it does. 

Until next week my loves, stay safe and out of trouble, but if you don’t – oh my god, tell me all about it. 

– Your Girl On The Go