There's a cafe in Fibrotown. Simple, stylish. Good coffee, great cakes (not that I ever have any, you understand). It's run by a young couple who work harder than it seems possible to work. That's the thing with cafes. It sounds so romantic and it ends up in long hours and lots of smiling at people (Masterchef contestants take note).
What I love about this cafe, apart from the aforementioned (untasted) cakes, is that every time I go there, I run into someone I know. My friend C, who holds one long-running meeting (with a changing cast of thousands) in there, sipping coffees while answering her iPhone. The beautiful G, who often pops in after the school run - she's as good at procrastinating as I am. Or, maybe, my friend Y, who runs the gorgeous little shop around the corner. She runs in and out with her KeepCup, dropping it on the counter, knowing her order will be delivered.
There's always someone to say hello to, before I head home on my child-free workdays to the empty Fibro, where the housework waits accusingly and my computer cursor blinks endlessly on a blank screen. A moment of connection before isolated reality kicks in.
On Mr4 days, I don't tend to go to that cafe. With him for company, there's connection everywhere and, besides, he doesn't consider their milkshakes, made with real chocolate and not syrup, to be the best in town. He's four. We walk a fine line between great coffee and good milkshakes. It's not easy, but compromise is key when you are a team.
I save My Cafe for the other days. When I really need it.
