The Bucket o'Pointlessness

You may remember my ongoing palaver with Starbucks. It began when they tried to kill me with the glorious evil that was caffeine.

Then I conquered with and conquered my macho demons and began ordering de-caff from them.

Recently though I've noticed that, de-caff or not de-caff, weeks when I go regularly to Starbucks tend to be heavier weeks than weeks when I forego the evil genius that is a big-ass cup of coffee and take in only the purity of water.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned this to d. "Well, you know, you could always ask them for skimmed milk," she said. "Plenty of people do it, and it's supposed to make better froth."

"Yyyyeah, that'll be right," I said. "The day I order a skinny latte is the day I cut my own balls off and prance around the room, declaring that my name is Anastasia and I'm, like, soooo pleased to meet you all...

Ahem.

Hi. My name's apparently Anastasia. I'm, like, soooo pleased to meet you all.

Tried it, didn't vomit man-blood out of my nostrils, tried it again, and now it's my regular thing. I burn with pretentious, could-I-be-more-Metrosexual shame every time I go up to the counter now, but this, this is what I'm now regularly asking for:
"A Venti de-caff skinny latte please."

Let's just deconstruct that for a second. I'm asking for coffee which isn't coffee, made with milk that isn't milk. Needless to say I then sidle over to the self-prep are, and add a couple of Sweet and Lows - sugar that isn't sugar - into a cup the size of a cauldron. It's a bucket of pointlessness, fakery and pretension, but in the absence of real cofee made with real milk and real sugar...like, I suspect, real people drink!...it'll have to do.

Blood was a weirdly low 4.2 this morning. Have had to go back through the entries of this blog this afternoon collating blood-sugar data for my annual diabetic review on Monday. Am also meeting the dietician finally on Monday, so a mega-day before the inevitably hideous weigh-in on Tuesday. Oh, and d - having had her payday today - has ordered me a pair of proper arch-supporting shoes, which should be here about mid-week. I was thrilled when she told me:
"Cool - does that mean I can get back to the walking and the cycling and the...and the...y'know, stuff when they arrive???"
"No!" she said. "You've got to let that foot heal first."
I sulked, but of course she's right.

So on, to the not-bike. Tomorrow's gonna be kick-ass - me, and d, and Kevin Spacey; we're going to see the critically acclaimed Richard III at the Old Vic. Or perhaps more accurately, I'm going to see the critically-acclaimed Richard III at the Old Vic, I think d's going to see the critically-acclaimed and genuinely impressive Kevin Spacey. As luck would have it, we get to go together.

Now, who wants coffee?