Bring Me a Snubbery

Thompson yawned, closed up his portfolio, set it aside. Leaning back, he surveyed the nearly-neat landscape of the decently-sized office he used most days of the week for his only somewhat engaging but admittedly well-paid desk job. His night job was decidedly less engaging: sitting in his apartment alone and lonely.

Thompson often considered getting a dog but somehow they seemed not nearly neat enough. Maybe a good shampoo could do the trick for a dusty pooch but then there was the risk of a wet-dog-scented residence, or worse, scented self. "no sir," he would grumble under his breath and would think something like, "As if I need a more haggish persona." This thought bubbled up now as he sat creaked-back reclining in his office chair, but as this same series of conclusions ran their usual coarse and receded from his mind the scene from earlier that day came swimming into his consciousness to replace them. He felt sick.

A vision of Theresa, busyish and genial in her coffee-stained smock, walked towards him and even now he couldn't help but rear back some from the dominance of her decently-sized personality. He'd been coming to the same coffee shop every weekday at 10 AM for over a year; she'd appeared 7 months ago on a drizzly Monday, quite engaging from the start. "You should consider using less sugar in your coffee if you're gonna keep drinkin this way every day," she'd playfully quip at him over the counter, a wink in her eyes. In his mind he responded something witty and fun with a devilish and knowing grin. In reality he stood mostly stone-faced, dreaming about the shape of her eyes and the way her ponytail snapped as she turned away with purpose to fill his cup. The most engaging he himself ever was consisted of a muffled word or two in response accompanied by a foot shuffle for good measure. She'd extend his coffee towards him over the counter and his hand would tingle from the nearness of hers, all the while he would be internally reprimanding himself for being such an ever-lovingdip-shitted baboon.

Not today, though. This time Teresa turned from him with a whip of her hair and before he could stop himself the words bubbled out, "we should see" (he realized with horror around this point that he was speaking aloud) "that movie." His voice was unusually high-pitched, the shock of his own self-betrayal washing over him. Teresa noticeably paused with her back to him, her pony tail in swinging animation while the rest of her froze for just enough time to be discernable. She turned back around, full coffee cup in hand with a look on her face, the most engaged she'd ever been with him, her eyes still with a sparkle and a smirk on her lips, "what?"

"the one with the dog?" he paused "popcorn.." he cleared his throat attempting to return his tenor to its normal base "on me?" Thompson could feel the color drain from his face while the moment slipped entirely out of his grasp.

Teresa dropped her eyes and smiled a bit more, handing him his coffee cup with a little less than her usual gusto, a single eyebrow raised. Thompson's arm felt limp as he accepted it this time. "Seriously," she ventured, "Less sugar! You're gonna give yourself diabetes!" 50 cents change, Thompson turned away, trudging back to the office, completely dis-engaged with reality and how he could have been such a decently-sized, ever-loving dense wad of human. "Could I be any more haggish?!" He grumbled, plopping into his office chair with another creak and taking a sip of his coffee. He had forgotten the sugar.