The new barista at my favorite Starbucks asked me out last week.

Normally, when this sort of thing happens, I’ll quickly decline, explain that I’m married, and then re-consider my decision to wear the anniversary ring that my husband bought me a few years ago rather than the wedding set that I stopped wearing due to my fear that it would slice off an infant arm or two.

This time, however, I stuttered a bit over my answer…

Not because I was tempted to accept, of course. (Although I readily admit that I do look rather fondly upon any man who is handing me coffee, jewelry, books, tiramisu, or mix tapes.)

But because I was in the drive-thru.

In the Big Rolling Va-Jay-Jay.

Complete with carseats.

And various laminated name signs that you use to pick up your children from school.

Which I’ve literally taped to the windshield so that I won’t lose them.

In fact, all that I was missing was either a baby attached my breast or a contracting uterus in order to make the entire scene straight out of some public service announcement demonstrating the benefits of proper birth control or things one should not do before they’re thirty…

But my choice of lipstick was rather fabulous.

I think I may start bathing in it.