Post by carteralannahmyles on Mar 20, 2010 9:26:21 GMT -5
xCARTER MYLESx
Well I'm hating all of this
I'm hating all of this
All of this, all of this
...
Now I know why I felt like shit when I woke up this morning
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Thus far, it had not been a pleasant morning. Phone had begun chirping at the ungodly hour of nine thirty. Her father, wondering how she was doing. Voice not only hindered by the telltale sound of one sleeping, husky with just a hint of aggravated scratching, but also filled with the annoyed whining of one completely hung over. The plan had been to remain abed for many more hours. But, in his business man way, her father’s normal response to the very typical sound of daughter’s hung over words was to continue with unnecessary chatter until he was satisfied she was too awakened to hope to return to sleep. Mentally cursing the man as she stumbled about her flat, clothing was slowly gathered and tossed on, fingers raking through the mangled curls leftover from night before. Grumbling to self, first thought after the many painful ways beloved father could die or wind up in a coma was of breakfast. Carter did not, under any circumstances, cook. Ignoring the car parked at very odd angle, legs carried her down the street, in the direction of usual morning first stop – Starbucks.
She was known by name and drink there. Usually, by the time she reached the front of the line, drink was prepared and all that was left was request for food, which varied from day to day. This morning, the line only held four people when she walked in, and she caught the barista noticing her. He nodded, turning to another barista, who went off to begin making Mylie’s drink. Carter was always treated well at her local Starbucks – they knew how well she tipped. The line dwindled before her, growing larger behind as she made her way to the front. Upon reaching, favorite Starbucks beverage was placed on the counter (Grande, 2 pump Vanilla, Non-Fat, Extra Hot, Latte) and she quietly asked for a muffin. Upon paying, she made her way over to the couch in the corner, curling up with breakfast placed on the table, she took a relaxing breath.
Hand dipped into pocket of coat just as Blackberry rang, trilling far too loudly as far as she was concerned. Sighing, fingers withdrew work phone from belt clip, clicking the answer button as green eyes skimmed the caller ID just before phone reached her ear, “Cam Isles Designs.” If she had known what the conversation was about to hold, she never would have answered the phone …
“Cam!” The masculine voice was excited, and not in a way that pleased her. As hand withdrew from pocket, it began expertly unscrewing the cap from Bailey’s Nip. Phone cradled between ear and shoulder, other hand popped the lid of latte, near boiling liquid swallowing the liquor. For the first time that morning, she smiled, “I’m just calling about the table…”
“I was planning on calling you later, Michael. It’s come in.” Replacing the lid, she gently shook the coffee in circles, dispersing the liquor throughout the sweet goodness of vanilla latte. Desperate for that first scalding sip, she prayed this would be a quick conversation. His response was completely unexpected, “No, no. Send it back.”
Entire form froze. It was far too early for this, “Do what now?”
“Cam, I have found the most amazing table. It was in this magazine I got this month… Absolutely gorgeous, Cam! Mahogany with scroll work all along the edges, and -”
“The table you ordered is mahogany with scroll work, Michael.”
“Yes, but you’ve got to see this one. You don’t understand -”
“No.” Frustrations rose far beyond what hung over mind was capable of handling so early in the morning. This one home had caused more drama than the last five put together. Many evenings she’d been ready to pull hair out of her head. About the table in question, she had received 40 plus calls. In the span of one fucking month. And now he wanted to change his mind?? “No, you don’t understand, Michael. You have been bugging me about this table for a month, calling everyday, demanding it get here sooner. Just last week you complained about getting your home back in order and how it was taking far too long to complete. And now you want to change the centerpiece? No. Not gonna happen. You have to understand, Michael, that you either take this table that has finally arrived to your exact specifications, or I beat you over the head with it.” Anger colored the Irish lass’s words, hands shaking with the violence she wanted to commit. Voice had risen, and she was becoming the center of attention. But, at that moment, she just did not care.
There was silence on the other end of the line, silence that trailed for what felt like minutes. When voice finally dared to reply, it was demure, “You’re … you’re right, Cam. I’ll be much happier with the original table…”
Not even bothering with any form of goodbye, line was disconnected, Blackberry tossed onto the table. Gluttonous inhaling from cup spread fire down chest into belly, searing liquid helping to calm the volcanic rage still threatening to explode. Cheerful melody played from purse and Juicy Couture Sidekick II was pulled out. Upon opening, ridiculous chain text appeared on screen. The joke actually made her smile, however, in the wow-that-was-so-stupid kinda way. At least the boiling rage was broken for the moment. Fingers flew as she texted back what perfect timing her friend had.
Feeling back to normal, or as much as possible with hang over pounding in her brain, she calmly began breaking apart the muffin to enjoy her breakfast.
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