Last weekend I met a Very Important Person in your life. I was nervous – trembling really – when I crossed the threshold and saw her standing there. I wanted so badly for her to like me. I wanted her to see how good we are together. I wanted her to instinctively know that I was worth your time and attention.

Last weekend I met your barista.

Our Saturday morning coffee runs tend to become something of a hipster safari. The pretentious caffeine addicts nurse their soy, double shot cappuccinos and peruse the weekend section of the paper with a kind of detached appreciation.

Though you regale me with stories of epic handlebar mustache sightings, I’ve merely been privy to a disturbingly large number of men with scraggly facial pubes and pit stains. It’s been weeks now, and I have yet to see a truly impressive, lip-framing fringe.

But that’s okay. Because with you, there’s always next weekend.

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