Frappaccino Crotch on a Thursday

I have Frappaccino Crotch.

Oh, I suppose it could be worse: I could have Crappaccino crotch rot. Coffee Grounds Butt....

I went to Starbucks this morning. For some reason, I made the detour on the way to work—I heard a Frappaccino calling my name. This doesn’t happen often (that the coffee gods), but this morning, my car made turns on its own and I was suddenly barreling down the road toward the land of caffeine and sugar. When I got there, I had trouble spitting out what I wanted to order. Now, it’s easy to say “a tall Java chip frappaccino, please,” but this morning my non-caffeinated tongue spit out: “medium…soy…no, wait—tall, mocha….um…let me start again.” The guy said, “that’s a medium soy pumpkin latte?”

Not even close.

So, I re-ordered, apologized for my inability to speak and indicated that I would be cured once I drank the thing. He laughed and stated that “most people are like that” when they come to the drive through to order, as none of us have yet to be caffeinated.

He filled that puppy to the brim, whipped cream and chocolate sauce spewing over the top. (Yes, I got whipped cream. It’s that kind of day.) He handed it to me and said, “there’s plenty there for you!”

As I’m driving (as I find it appropriate to multi-task when Frappaccino-ing), I’m getting chocolate and whipped cream all over my hands and steering wheel. Despite this, it’s going well. I’m thinking, “whoa, this is not a good idea with these light-colored dress pants,” but I drove and slurped none-the-less.

I get to work, Frappaccino in hand, go in my office and take the plastic lid off so I can stir the whipped cream into the frozen delight. That’s when it happened….

….chocolate syrup and whipped cream FLEW everywhere. On my paperwork, on my computer, on my pant leg, on my shirt….and, of course, on the crotch area of my pants.

Those of you who know of my “Frappaccino Car Disaster of 2005” are probably disappointed in how boring this story is compared to that, but it is really something to have brown-colored stains in the crotch area of my light-colored pants.

And, as fate would have it, my stain stick is at home. In an effort to save myself from a day-long episode of Frappaccino Crotch, I approached my society work sister (thank god someone else is here in the wee hours) and asked if she had a stain stick. She did—but, when I went to use it, the pen part fell off (yes, into my crotch area) and was no longer usable. She had a Shout wipe, so I went with that. I thought it worked pretty fabulously….

….until the spot dried. Now the chocolate blob was a bigger spot that looked like I had peed in my pants. It was bigger than the size of a silver dollar but smaller than a CD. Gives you a visual, eh?

Well, I’ve decided Frap Crotch it is. Don’t have time to go home. I’m going to a visitation (wake) after work and I doubt anyone will be staring at my crotch while I’m there…as long as no one asks for a drink....