It happened again in the faded, nascent late spring sunshine. I sat dumbfounded and disarticulated by the transcendent beauty that just stormed into my reality interface. The coffee I was drinking, which like all coffee I ever drink was confirming the existence of a wild, penitent, vengeful and capricious deity. All of these beauties only reinforce that perspective.
She was a visionary, a prophetess, a seer. Wearing the merest hint of a fragmented pair of cut-off jeans. They barely concealed the golden meanness of the curvature of her ass. It was this universally admired ratio of rondure that convinced me the deity had in fact alit on this earthly plane. A visitor to our degraded and deranged plane of existence, a manifestation of the divine here for all of us who attended closely to confirm that it is not only coffee that serves the divine will. It was that curvilinear fantasy, combined with an olive complected expanse of flesh that confirmed divinity. A royal blue tank top and pink tasseled flip-flop completed the costume, not quite the heralded, haloed and hallowed ideal we have all come to expect.
I prostrated myself before her, genuflecting and praying, tearing up and slop spit and slobbering on the exalted and minuscule hem of her raiment. It was starting well I have to believe. For what God or anointed representative therefrom could deny the observant and respectful exaltation of such a holy relic?
She touched me, pressing me back from her, most likely to raise my eyes from those spectacularly tasseled flip-flops to encourage me to lift my gaze to her finely hewn, exquisitely chiseled face. It was so. She lifted my eyes to face her. She was giving me some type or style of benediction I was sure. I was chosen. It was guaranteed.
She spoke very calmly into her Bluetooth headset as she slipped her hand from her understated and refined clutch. A clutch that was neither ostentatiously stuffed nor over-filled. Just precisely right, and she was slipping something yet obscure from it. Grasping my chin firmly, soothing sounds still slid from those blessed lips, and then the hand was free of the clutch and lo, I was to be baptized. She readied the canister, assuring my face was aligned with the holy dispenser and then loosed her divine benediction. A stream of mixed capsicum and mace burst forth, bathing my un-blinkered eyes in the exquisite agony of enlightenment. And in my shrieking, contorted reaction the words she spoke came clear as well. It was a direction to this coffee shop, punctuated with cool calm and collected ‘yes officers’ and ‘please sirs,’ smoothly describing my own clothing and the color of my “wild” hair. I had indeed been chosen, and she was now calling upon the very host of angels to sweep down and take me bodily from this halt/fallen and degraded plane.
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