You Say Coffee...

My friend Richard is right: I seem to have a knack for getting these "kinds" of coffee shop stories.

Say what?

(Courtesy of nespresso.com)

After doing a bit of moaning about how everyone else has discovered my new cafe-hangout, I decided to make the most out of it and just enjoy my cup of coffee.

My ever-so-shaky silent reverie was shattered just as I was about to finish my drink.

"...Yah, yah, I have this Preyda (Prada) and then I have another Preyda at home!"

I turn to see what is colloquially called a matronix, an older woman of a certain age, talking to another woman who seemed to be of the same mold. As they passed by, I got a whiff of the perfume they were sporting, which reminded me of my grandmother when I would visit her just before she passed, although these women were probably in their 60's.

After settling their things (they seemed to have shopped for a barangay, shopping bags galore), they proceeded to the ordering counter, still engaged in dropping off label names, some of them correctly pronounced, some of them...well, not.

"I told him to get a Zeeg-na (Zegna) suit, to go with his Jor (Dior) ties!"

I decided that I deserved better (eavesdropped) conversations than this if this was the last thing that I would remember should a sudden wave of amnesia hit me that very instant. I managed to haul my butt to the door, and thought that my ears were safe from the verbal assault these two women were giving out, but matronix number one managed to have the last word.

"Miss, miss, I'd like to have the drink I had when I was in Italy, yung ka-pu-see-no."