Don’t Cry Over Spilled Latte

I was pulling my Starbucks cup in close to breathe in what would end up being my last waft of Pumpkin Spice Tea latte. I set the lauded holiday cup down on my kitchen table gently, reveling in what would soon be my joy. But something went terribly wrong, I tilted the cup too far and it landed almost entirely horizontal. Precious orange-caramel hued  fluid billowed from the cup and all over the table. No, my heart cried out, No! In vain I scrambled to rescue it, clutching the cup with both hands, helplessly watching as my latte convulsed below.

Time seemed to slow, as if often does in moments of trauma. Desperate thoughts assailed my mind in rapid succession: I should have caught it with my hands! Can I tip the table and pour it back in the cup? Should I wipe it with a paper towel and squeeze it back into the rest? It’s still warm; perhaps I could just lick it up off the table.

I looked down at the devoided cup between my palms, not even 1 inch of fluid was all that remained of my creamy, pumpkiny, caffeine brew. The 8 plus ounces that had spilled over the table, now dripped onto the tiles below. It was only then that I realized how shitty my day had begun.

That morning I had waited so long for this beverage, having bought it  hours ago while waiting for a friend who ended up forgetting our coffee date. I had only sipped on it, conserving its sweet goodness for when I returned home from my errands. I had set it aside as I restarted the load of laundry my children had forgotten to finish the night before, rewashing the sour towels that had sat undried for too long.

As I walked into my kitchen, chores done, on the gloomy, cool November morning my thoughts turned to how nice it would be to sit at my desk with a piping hot latte by my side. I had removed its lid, refreshed its milk a little and warmed it up in the microwave. It was going to be a perfect accompaniment to my morning. I got one last sniff. And then I got to clean the table and the floor.