Since my return to New York on Monday evening, the things that I have been craving most from my time in Italy are very long walks and espresso in any form, both multiple times per day.

Getting in the walks is easy, though not as pretty, but the espresso is the challenging part.

Because my mother insisted that I not buy an espresso maker, cups and spoons because she had tons sitting around waiting to be given away, I just stuck with buying the coffee and the cremata thing that will make foam for steamed milk. Great. Except for the fact that I won’t get the wondrous espresso maker, cups and spoons for at least another week and a half.

$#%**&(^*$%!#

Within two hours of getting home, Boyfriend Turned Husband and I walked over to Starbucks so that I could get a cafe latte. In the realm of expectations, mine sat on the very dark, cold, muddy, polluted river bank at the gross dirty edge of that world, because I knew that it couldn’t come to close what I’ve been used to drinking. Also, if I have Starbucks, it’s for a non-fat chai and a massive stomach ache because I’m lactose intolerant. But I digress.

I planned to get myself a non-fat cafe latte, with the intention of having six ounces in the evening and six in the morning.

But before I could do that, I was smacked by the reality that the worst part about Starbucks isn’t necessarily the coffee (sorry, Starbucks sludge lovers); it’s the observations that you make while waiting in line to order.

The food is my first distraction. I’m allergic to everything. Like, everything: soy, barley (including flour and beer), sesame, carrots, yeast and anything thing that comes into direct contact with those foods/ingredients. So I stare at cookies the size of my face, the cupcakes, the new chai bar cake – thing – whatever it is, the new egg sandwiches which disgustingly stay in that weird case all freaking day, the sandwiches which also sit in the crap fridge all day and the “fat free” muffins.

They weigh five pounds. But they’re fat free. Hear that? They might be 800 calories, but not one is from fat!! That makes them totally healthy, y’all!

Next, my attention is diverted to the chalk boards that creatively list the coffee of the day, the suggested food item of the day along with a drawing of each one. The kids at my local Starbucks have mastered Coffee Cup by Chalk, but their food drawing skills are severely lacking. Like I think that they were aiming for the breakfast sandwich, but it totally looked like a Filet O’ Fish. Wrong franchise, kids; don’t piss off The King.

And finally, inevitably, all of my staring is interrupted by the douche on the cell phone. You know that guy: he’s the super important dude on his stupid phone, talking about his super important job at which he probably really sucks for the entire six minutes you’re behind him. And he’s always in front of you in line, NEVER behind you.

But when super important douche is on line for those minimum 360 seconds, he can’t be bothered to look in the weird food case with the 13 hour old breakfast sandwiches or at the beverage menu.

So he takes the phone away from his face, walks away from the register, steps directly in front of me to stare into the weird food case (what does it do, exactly? Trick people into thinking that whatever sits in there all day is safe from contamination?) and looks

and squints

and stares

and orders

Ready?

A tall decaf and a chocolate chip cookie.

$#%**&(^*$%!#

and

$#%**&(^*$%!#

I’m welcoming myself home. But only until Friday. St. Louis, watch out. I’m visiting my friend, Soon to be Dr. Jersey, and you’re totally my next victim. If you’re from the STL and you recognize the back of my head, I dare you to say hi.

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