Death and Taxes (and coffee)

It's a BEAUTIFUL day here and I got a new, free, blouse! I feel pretty classy sitting here in it.

Roommate has switched Bux stores, and she doesn't have to go in quite so early anymore, which means that occasionally I drop her off at the new store on my way to work, and get a free latte out of the deal. This also means that she and I get to trade witty banter in the car, which is a fun start to the day.

This morning, as we left the house, I looked at us--she in her full on Sbux black and me in my charcoal gray blouse and black pants, both of us compulsively wearing our aviators--and laughed.

"What?" she said, grinning.

"Someone who didn't know the culture at all would assume we were going to a funeral," I pointed out.

She laughed. "SO true. It's all sunny, and there's spring coming and bluebirds singing and--"

"--rainbows popping--"

"--right, and people are happy and smiling and probably wearing pastels, and here we are in full on BLACK."

"The Ex-Goth in the Entrepreneur would be proud."

And then, a little later, we weren't far from her store and I court death by pulling a fast left turn in front of oncoming traffic, because, jeez, we were on our way for COFFEE and that can't wait for things like safety, am I right?

Her: "Turns out, we WERE dressed for a funeral!"

Me: "We had no idea IT WOULD BE OUR OWN."