It is not often that I admit publicly that I am, after all, human. That I, like many of you, have shortcomings and perhaps even a foible or two. The difference between my foibles and most of those possessed by other people is that my foibles are cute, often cuddly, and always scented like a delightful cucumber-melon body wash.
Still, even as I am equipped with the knowledge that I am susceptible to shortcomings, I was somewhat surprised this afternoon when, while out and about, I accepted the cheerful offer for a free sample of what I think was called a raspberry frappuccino from a Starbucks representative outside the 62nd and Broadway store. Her tray was home to about a dozen and a half little Solo cups (yes, I checked the bottom of the cup later, because I am a snob about these things) with miniature versions of the Starbucks signature green straws poking out of them. She sunnily asked if I wanted one, and I, doing quick calculations in my head, decided that, yes, I could accept this offer. This offer I could accept. Accept I offer could this!
“Carol Ann,” I told myself, “you’re taking one!”
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Uhm, your name isn’t Carol Ann. And aren’t you, like, a vegan or something?”
Well, yes. On both counts. But sometimes I like to live on the edge, kids. I like to grab the bull by the horns, pull his broad head toward my lipglossed (MAC Viva Glam VI) kisser, and plant one on his snout. And that’s what I did today. Threw caution to the wind, grabbed horns and kissed snout, and, just before I started flying by the seat of my pants, told myself it was okay that the concoction was topped with something whipped and creamy and thus not anywhere near vegan. I mean, really, how could I resist the allure and lure of something so cute and jaunty? Answer: I could not. And did not.
What makes this entire episode even more earth-shattering is that I have been known, on more than 65 occasions, to rail against fattening coffee drinks, and on at least twice as many occasions, against Starbucks itself. I will not go into all the reasons for the latter railing, because they are probably the “usual” complaints that you have no doubt read on many bloggy anti-Starbucks manifestos. But since I did not have to set foot inside the actual establishment, and it was (and is) such a nice day and my hair came out particularly good today, I decided to avail myself of the offer.
And let me tell you, kids, it was so damned good. But as good as it was, it did not put my own home-brewed iced coffee concoction to shame. So although I succumbed today, my lapse was a one-time only event, and, never fear, I am back on the vegan wagon.

0 thoughts on “Shame

  1. My mother gave me a copies of The Sirens Of Titan, Slapstick, Slaughterhouse 5, and the unexplainable Breakfast of Champions when I was about 13. After reading all four, I purchased the remaining books I hadn’t read yet. I re-read several of these over the years. Vonnegut’s writing seems to stick with me more than most, as I can remember his books vividly even now as I mourn his passing. My friends and I used to quote so many lines in conversation for fun. I can’t really think of another author I appreciated as much.
    I did some quick research on the history of over at The Internet Wayback Machine. Vonnegut’s website had a drawing of him on the front page up until a couple years ago, at which point it was replaced with the phrase Goodbye Blue Monday.
    Today it shows a rough drawing of an empty birdcage, door open. Goodbye sir.

  2. The world is a greatly diminished place today, Jodi.
    My only personal encounter with him was a call-in when he was being interviewed on a local NPR station. He was both gracious and kind to my clumsy efforts to express my appreciation for the many benefits I had gained from reading (and rereading) his work.

  3. 1: Based upon her retelling of the tale, Jodi han’t been that excited to see anyone since Bucky ‘the buckin’ chicken’ made his ‘alas I’ve been kicked off American Idol’ appearance LIVE! on the stage of LIVE! with Regis and Kelly.
    And in much the same fashion, Jodi was tongue-waggling and tongue-tied to the point of speechlessness mixed with an aura of moisture.
    Just think where her career might be now had she managed to say hi, or even sleep with, either one of these entertainment masters?
    2: JamieD had a close near-encounter with the crocodile hunter. While swimming in the ‘lagoon’ of the Ramada Jungle Playland Hotel and Resort in Orlando, Florida, a reptilian snake slipped below tha water and between her parted thighs.
    Before she could react, up pops the Crocodile Hunter, resplendid in toothy grin. The grin vanished in an instant as he wiped his drenched, straggly blonde hair from over his eyes and a realization set in…
    “Crikey!” he said. “You’re not my bloomin’ Missus!”
    And he swam off, embarased and asheamed, never to be seen again.
    RIP Kurt. You rock.

  4. Ouch. I stole every Kurt Vonnegut book in my High School library (oh so many years ago). I didn’t really intend to keep them forever, but after I read them I HAD to have them. If I knew what box in my Godforsaken storage unit they were I’d tell them it was an emergency and make them let me in right this moment. And then I’d re-read every one. We’d have to cut the lock off (that’s a long irrelevant story, and defying my usual propensity to tell such stories I can’t at the moment).

    God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater

  5. I feel the same way every time I think about how I’ll lose Josh Madden or Nick Newman to a tragedy. I’m sure I’ll weep and wear a veil.
    I do feel for you, sexiness, I do.

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