Z: I’ve decided that ordering coffee for your wife at Starbucks

is the new buying tampons.

She: Master of logic strikes again.

Z: Honestly, it’s even worse. When I’m standing in line at the supermarket with a box of

Tampax, a bag of Hershey Kisses and a Taser gun

refill, all the other guys look at me and smile, or maybe offer a friendly pat on the back.

She: You’re so evolved.

Z: But ordering coffee for you at Starbucks? I’ve never felt more emasculated.

She: You used to do a drag show.

Z: Totally different. I look good in fishnets. But when I bought coffee for you on Mother’s Day, nobody knew that it wasn’t for me — they all assumed that I was the guy who wanted the Venti Single-Shot Nonfat Latte with Three Equals. Like I’m the guy who chooses to drink that.

She: You still remember my order?

Z: Burned into the space I once used for calculus. I even remember your old order, which was a Grande Nonfat Sugar-Free Vanilla Decaf Latte with Two Equals. Honestly, I feel like I grew breasts just typing that into the computer.

She: You realize that you can’t claim ineptitude as a reason for not getting me coffee now?

Z: That was a Mother’s Day special event. One day a year only.

She: But you ordered so well.

Z: One day only. Even the guys behind me were ordering something for their wives, only they got to joke about it with each other, loudly, so that everyone knew that they weren’t the ones drinking the

L.A. Story

-inspired, “Half Double Decaffeinated Half-Caf, with a Twist of Lemon.” It frightens me that that doesn’t sound as absurd as it used to.

She: Please. I see just as many guys in Starbucks as I do women. It’s not like they’re all getting black coffee and chasing it down with a beer.

Z: I don’t even like saying the words, “Venti” and “Grande.” Sign me up for girl’s school.

She: And yet, you have no problem ordering the fruity-frilly drink at a craps table.

Z: Again, totally different. I own that. When you’re standing at a craps table in


and the pleasantly rundown cocktail waitress asks you if you want a drink, it’s very cool to ask what they have in the way of fruity-frilly drinks. That’s manly irony.

She: Why can’t a latte be manly ironic?

Z: Because I don’t like lattes, and I do like fruity-frilly drinks. Duh.

She: I got you to understand the difference between

Diet Coke and Coke Zero

and maxi- and mini-pads. Surely you can master Starbucks ordering.

Z: If you wanted to marry a woman, it’s legal now.

She: I sometimes call myself Fifi when I order there. You can make up a different name if it makes you feel more macho.

Z: That might be fun. I’ll go with Fifi, too. Then the other guys will think I’m totally cool.

She: I’m not sure you’re perfectly zeroed in on the whole “cool” thing.

Z: Correction: … the “cool” thing, Fifi.

She: My birthday’s coming up soon-ish. It’ll be hot then, so I’ll need to change my order.

Z: No, stop!

She: I’ll have a Doubleshot on Ice Energy Beverage with Extra Guarana, Ginseng and Two Equals.

Z: There goes algebra.

She: On second thought, can you make that blended?

Z: Yes, dear.

Place your order with She and Z at leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.