A final Sunday in Satellite...

"Hey you guys!" the mid-thirties barista chirruped when I come in behind an India-Indian (yes, the distinction has to be made in these parts) guy in rumpled green scrubs. "What can I get you two?"

The guy turns and gives me the up and down sneer. "We're not together," he says and proceeds to order a plain black coffee and a bran muffin. The woman, bless her, blanches at the rudeness and runs through his order in silence.

I wait patiently behind him, not caring that I'm in an unflattering black t-shirt advertising the One Campaign and dirty jeans, that my face is makeup free and my hair's pulled back. I'm here to type. But he gives another up-and-down sneer and waits to the side while I go through my transaction.

"I'm sorry," the barista whispers. "Really. I've seen you two come in together a few times and thought..."

I wave my left hand as married women are want to do. "It's okay."

She makes this scrunched up face that's a mixture of snark and regret. "And I was like so glad to see the two of you coming in together on a Sunday morning, like it confirmed it, you know?"

I laugh and she gives me my latte (snort from the doctor) and my cookie (double snort). He gets his coffee (eye-roll) and muffin (eye-roll) and stalks out of the shop.

"But here's what you should have said," Adam says later, after I've finished the revision and we're pulling together dinner for my parents. "You should have said, 'I can cook full Indian dinner, meat and vegetarian...bitch!'"

I try not to spit-take into the sauce. It becomes the catch phrase for the evening. "Meat and vegetarian...bitch!"

And considering Adam is currently reading the manuscript and giving it the final spit polish, I expect it'll work its way in as a punchline.