Coffee shop happenings

Given my blogging name, it should come as no surprise that I happen to like coffee and coffee shops. Two quick notes:

1. I like COFFEE, not sweet, frothy, whip cream topped drinks with a splash of coffee in them. No, I like coffee.
2. I like coffee SHOPS, not coffee SHOPPES. I remember a Dave Barry column from long ago where he proposed a "superfluous E tax" meant to penalize those who insist on naming a coffee shop something like Ye Olde Towne Coffee Shoppe -- though they do have good coffee there.

Now back to the story. This morning I was at my favorite local coffee shop, Java Jaay's. Java Jaay's has its collection of regulars and one of them is the mother/mother-in-law of the owners. I've gotten to know her a bit as she is there most mornings waiting for the arrival of her grandkid (she keeps the little girl during the day) and she now knows that I have no interest in things like home decoration or ironing my clothes or lots of other things that some people (sorry, but especially females) find interesting.

Anyway, this morning the mother tells me that I'm going to have to start showing up a little earlier in the morning because she and another regular are going to start learning to knit. Yes, I told her, that's just what I need to add to my life -- a single guy, with cats, who can knit. Yep, that'd work out real well. I'm pretty sure she was kidding about this, but she did seem to think that it might NOT be such a turn off for women because then they'd see that I was in touch with my feminine side -- you know, a sweet, sensitive man.

Those of you who know me well will immediately know why I rolled around the floor laughing helplessly when she said that. The last thing I need (if I were on the prowl for a wife) is another sweet, sensitive factor. I've been fighting that label my whole life! [Yes, Ang, feel free to throw in your comments on this.] It's the kiss of death. My friend, Nathan, and I used to have a whole "bit" about the fatality of the "sweet" label. Many's the time I've been (jokingly, I think) marked as a gay man due to my sensitivity and just how much I am in touch with my feminine side.

As my department secretary told me the other day, ... She'd been having a conversation with a friend about good "chick lit" to read when she realized all her recommendations were books I'd let her borrow. A pair of sisters I used to hang out with reached the same conclusion when they learned I'd read the Bridget Jones books and I could converse about other books in the genre. They eventually, and reluctantly, concluded, though, that I could not in fact be a gay man because I just didn't have the wardrobe or the fashion sense -- I think the lack of ironing really was the deciding factor -- to pull it off.

To get back to the woman in the coffee shop ... Once I got over my fit of laughter, I got to thinking about it from her perspective. She might not immediately know that I'm well stocked with sensitivity. All she sees is a guy who doesn't shave every day, never irons his clothes, and has a serious jones for coffee and newspapers. Hmm, I can see now how she might think a little knitting would be good for me. Sorry, not going to happen -- though I did hurt my manly image by knowing that a big wad of knitting yarn is called a skein. Damnit!