I'm Afraid That I'm Not Sure Of A Love There Is No Cure For

Well, that's it. I'm in love.

Same guy working at the CP Starbucks, and when I presented for my venti soy chai as promised, he told me to hang on to the coupon for another day, giving me a two-fer. Here are the possibilities, as I see them:

1. He's in love with me.
2. He's trying to take down Starbucks one free beverage at a time.
3. The swelling is sufficiently reduced as to make me cute enough to garner free lattes.
4. Conversely, I am still so unfortunate-looking as to elicit sympathy and free lattes.
5. My splint-induced speech impediment has been misinterpreted as a form of mild retardation, again eliciting sympathy and free lattes.
6. He recognizes me by now and figures that I have earned a few freebies after spending probably hundreds of dollars on overpriced spiced tea.

Any of these is fine with me. Right now, he's the barista of my heart.

Today I am happy because my blog has done some good in the world! Lynne's husband, Ray, was inspired by mine to start his own and do a better job of journaling and writing, which he used to do quite a lot. This shall serve to propel my blog forward a little longer, since I do start to read back over it periodically and feel those self-serving pangs of guilt for being so completely focused on myself.

You know, when you spend 25 - er, 22 - years unable to close your mouth the way you should, it's a difficult adjustment when those teeth finally fit together like they're supposed to. My teeth actually hurt when I press them together because they're not used to fitting that way, and they don't really like staying together - my jaw also isn't used to shutting all the way, apparently, so I kind of leave my mouth hanging slightly open because it's more comfortable. Very attractive fly-trap look. Lovely. (I hate it when people stand there with their mouths hanging open. Now look at me.)