Yeah, I'm actually not sure that's your name, but I think you're regal and exotic enough to pull it off, and I imagine one day we could maybe be close enough that I could call you Viv.
See, I'm the girl who comes into your café most weekday mornings wearing the same faded red sweatpants and asking you if I can get a refill of coffee and some tap water. Lamest order ever, I know. I wish we could get past my lack of imagination. I feel bad that I can't compliment your apron or bleached dreads without possibly sounding condescending.
I honestly want to be your friend.
I've worked my share of coffee shops, so we could start off just bantering about different espresso grinds and how to spruce up day-old pastries. I bet we would find that we have a lot more in common than just that. If you think about it, we spend at least 20 hours a week together, which is more than I can say I spend with most of my family.
I guess the real reason I'm writing is that I feel like this might've been a hard year for you. Maybe it's just the morning mayhem or the pace of serving coffee in midtown Manhattan, but I feel like in 365 days I haven't seen you crack a smile once. I am not blaming you. I'm just hoping that 2010 gives you new reasons to laugh, let loose, maybe even take off that visor and unleash your awesome mane. I honestly don't know why I get to sip the coffee that you pour. I wish it was the other way around. I hope that in this new year you get to sit near a radiator listening to carefully plucked guitar music and hold a hot cup of your favorite drink, having no idea what time it is and not needing to know.
Take care, Vivian.