Buzzing with Surprises.

"So what'll it be tonight, Rob."

Baristas one and two are smiling like hostesses to the forbidden fruit tree. "Try something new, Rob. We dare you."

Yeah, right.

They know that too. They know me too well, they know what I'll order before my lips move. Yet tonight, they're pausing, smiles promising forbidden flavors if only I'll try. #1 stands by the register, and #2 has the blender filed with ice. They know me, but tonight they feel naughty. Tonight is a dare.

I was stung by a bee once. Only once. I think the bee that stung me can say the same thing. He'd only stung one human and then he quit. Neither of us liked the experiment. We both quit after our exchange. I gave up falling on bees in the grass, and he gave up on life. His answer seemed a little drastic, but maybe he knew something I didn't. He was just a bee trying to expand his horizons. He didn't know what flower flavor he wanted that day, so he waited for something to hit him.

I always order the froofy drinks on Fridays. I leave the real coffee for the early day. If this were a bar, I'd be ordering a sweet drink with a fruit-kabob jutting out. Yeah, real manly. Still this isn't a bar, it's a coffee shop in the back of a bookstore. I left my manhood at the door next to the chick-lit kiosk. I know, the security guard is holding my balls for me--so to speak.

So I sashay up to the counter, curtsy and the girls take my order. They flirt cuz they know I'm harmless. I let them, cuz I know they're paid to. It's a symbiotic relationship.

"Do you want the usual?"

See? I told you. I'm pathetic, I have a "usual."

'Uhm…" I'm indecisive as usual.

"You want me to make you a surprise?" Says blender-ista.

In my head a Robbie the Robot is spinning madly, "Danger! Danger! Danger!"

"A surprise?"

"You'll like it."

Uh huh, the last surprise I "enjoyed," removed my stinger, my innards, and half my personal belongings. I'm sure MyEx keeps them all in a special place.

"Uh, OK…" yeah. I'm a closet masochist.

"cool!" She smiles and glides up to the syrup udders, jerking flavors like a milk maid maniac.

Regist-ista takes my money as my gaze takes in mad beverage flurry.

"It'll be fine." She offers.

I swallow hard.

She hands me my change and leans in, "If you don't like it, we'll get you something else free."

A surprise…

How do you kill a creature of habit? Jump out from the dark and say "surprise!" No gun, no knife, no sticky tape of death, just the surprise that kills.

"here you go!" Blender-ista smiles.

"Thanks," I take a sip.

It's good!

"It's good!"

"I know. It's…"she wades through a list of ingredients that sound like "Blah, blah, blah…" as if I'm stopping by the "blah" store on the way home. She's proud of her concoction. I am too.

"It's good!" I nod. The nod shows that I meant to say the same thing twice. It's part of my routine. The drink is good though. It tastes like something I used to make with Malibu Rum and Bailey's Irish Cream, except this doesn't have the alcohol. I don't think…

I walk over to an open table: too much excitement. I need to sit; I think I'm going to wheeze soon. My surprise fun muscles are flabby. I really need to work on them. I need to build them up.

I used to find fun in the everyday. Now I just find the everyday in my everyday.

"You got blah in my mundane!"

"You got mundane in my blah!"

"mmm! Tastes great!"

"mmm! Less filling…"

Yeah, I need to workout the fun muscle. I need to break up the day somehow. I'm doing better but it's time to expand. I need to find a new flavor of fun every day. I don't know how, but it'll hit me.

Probably a poor choice of words.