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Confessions of a Java Hussy


Widge’s Note: Please welcome Su, a new contributor here at Needcoffee. Su’s a friend who goes a long way back, rediscovered via Facebook. Useful thing, that. In this, her first of hopefully many bits to come, she introduces herself in such a way as to show she’s definitely One Of Us. Please welcome her to the Needcoffee Army with warmth and espresso.

I’m having an affair and I don’t feel one bit guilty. Actually, if I’m truly honest with myself, I’m having several affairs. At the same time. I know! I live dangerously!

There’s the Colombian. Ah… what a way to wake up. He’s rich, smooth and knows just how to get my brain cells going. I need the Colombian before I hit the shower. Buenos Dias, indeed!

At lunch, I have a quickie with the Frenchie. My friends say Frenchie comes on too strong, but I like strong! Sometimes, I only have ten minutes for Frenchie, but boy does he make those ten minutes count–and sends me off with a buzz to beat the band!

Before dinner, I might take a nip from the Indonesian. Ooh, spicy and light. Five minutes with the Indonesian and I’m perky and ready for any dinner conversation.

[ad#longpost]After dinner, though, it’s always the Italian. He’s from Verona and knows how to get right into my veins. And stay there. The Italian makes me forget about dessert– because he is the dessert.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “You brazen hussy!” (or maybe words to that effect) Go ahead, point your finger at me and hiss. I don’t feel ashamed. I even flaunt my love affairs in front of my husband. He doesn’t even notice. Well, once, he said, “What’s that smell?”

I played dumb, mostly because I couldn’t tell if it was the Frenchie or the Indonesian. I’d had both by that time and both were affecting me, although their aromas had blended together into one heady scent.

I’ve pretty much kept to those four for awhile now. Until today. When I came face to face with the Cajun. Hmmm…. I grabbed other items then circled back for another look. The Cajun looked strong. Nice lines. Bold, hard to ignore. I try to walk away but swing my cart around again. The Cajun stood his ground. Was he taunting me? Obviously, this Cajun doesn’t know me very well. I push my cart right up to him and say, “Jump in, baby, let’s go!” The Cajun topples on top of the yogurt and Pop Tarts. Oh, he’s a player, this one.

I got him home and went in for the kill, can opener in hand. As soon as I heard him sigh, I knew he’d become part of my java harem. There’s just one question. Where does he fit… and how? Time to reshuffle the lineup…

1 comment

  • Well, that was odd, which is to say, good job! Welcome to the crew, I’ll be the one posting entirely too many comments. As seen here.