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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Last Friday, I visited the Starbucks nestled next to the Concordia bookstore. Objective: find a snack and a place I could study while snacking. This looked promising; in the hall outside the cafe, a couple of tables were empty.
I hadn't been in a Starbucks since London, since David and I sat in one pondering what to do with the bags we were dragging around, since we weren't staying in the city overnight. (The answer: drag them around more.)
Anyway, I got a soda "refresher" alongside a danish, but I'd forgotten that this was the Writing Names on Cups Chain. What? My name? Oh yes. Kirsten.
And I got it back "Christen."
Sure, christen me Christen. How Christian of you. Are you translating from Danish, because of my pastry choice...? I open my German textbook. Cherries: Kirschen. Closer, but the "refresher" is strawberry something, and disappointingly half ice. Disappointingly? No, refreshingly. I dissolve them in my mouth one by one, scoop out the strawberry slices with the straw. Linger longer, they tell me. Slow down a little.
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