The laid-back coffee shop down the street from my apartment closed last month, which means that if I want a morning iced coffee (and believe me I want a morning iced coffee) I now have to head out of my comfort zone, six blocks away, to a new, swank espresso bar. I know this is a silly thing to complain about, but there's an unexpected problem: The women in this coffee shop dress up. On, like, a Tuesday morning. At 9:30 AM. Not to go to a workplace, which of course I would understand, but to sit in an overstuffed chair, listen to Wilco, and bang away on their laptops. The biggest culprit is a woman we shall call R.C., because the first day I saw her she had on what I believe was this Rachel Comey jacket, perfectly fitting jeans, and flat patent leather flats that looked like these. She was also wearing three pretty, delicate chains, lip gloss, and had a blowout. Like Red, she stared at my schlubby outfit with a tiny look of pity (when will I learn?). The next day, I tried at least a little by throwing on my Built by Wendy smock and a bit of makeup, but R.C. had me totally beat with a black silk dress and strappy gold sandals. Now, there are a couple of reasons why these women might want to turn it out in my chill Brooklyn neighborhood—they could be meeting someone afterward or might just have a ton of pride in their appearance. Or maybe, just maybe, it's what I noticed on day three at the fancy new coffee place: The tall, brown-haired barista is really hot.
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