This morning I stopped by Starbucks. By some heavenly answered prayer, I discovered their apple/caramel/spice drink. No caffeine, but so good. So I sat waiting.
A testy lady stood at the counter, tapping her foot in irritation. She had a big purse and an excessive amount of gold jewelry. She kept sighing, deep, dramatic heaves. The sweet little workers just ignored her and went about their business.
She hefted her massive purse onto the counter and sighed again. This time a little spittle flew out of her mouth.
I looked around to see if anyone else was noticing the show. But I was alone. And then it hit me. I was not alone. I glanced down at my belly and realized Butch Ann was right there with me.
I wanted to pat my stomach and whisper, "Don't you ever act like that lady. Be nice to people who work in the food industry. It's a hard job, plus, they can spit in your food." But I didn't. Because I don't want anyone to see me talking to myself and I have no interest in an involuntary 48 hour psych lock-up.
But it was a moment where I realized that Butch Ann and I... we're a team. We're in this together. It was a very nice moment.