Why I almost got divorced over Starbucks.

Gnomie and I were Going to the hospital so I could be induced to have Budge. It was ridiculously early in the morning, and I was told to eat a small meal before I got to the hospital. Clearly, that meal had to come from Starbucks.

Gnomie was driving and I informed him of the urgent need to take me to a Starbucks. He looked at me like I was more psycho than usual, and informed me that Starbucks was closed. I cheerfully told him that the one on Hosmer was 24 hours. High on endorphins and lack of sleep, he proceeded to explain that there was no such thing, and he didn't know where I was talking about. Now, I am rarely wrong, and pretty much never wrong about Starbucks. A blow up on par with Mt. St. Helens ensued. I started crying and accused him of not loving me for denying me the last wish I had before I brought his daughter into this world, and he freaked out for having a psycho pregnant wife screaming and crying over a mocha. The battle continued with me telling him to go to the Hosmer Starbucks, and him screaming that he didn't know what I was talking about, partially because a crying, screaming, sleep deprived pregnant woman makes no sense.

Finally, I make him stop the car, and I tell him to get out. He refuses, so I was left to inform him that I would walk to the hospital unless he got out of the car. The man stopped the car and got out. I get in the drivers seat, lock the doors, and cry, all while contemplating whether to leave him standing there while I get my coffee and have my freaking baby. I had never wanted anything so much as I wanted to drive off in that moment, that mocha was the most important thing in the world. He deserved to be left behind over the evil he had done. He was a horrible, mean man who didn't deserve to go with me.

Images of sitting alone in the hospital flashed through my head. I pictured the nurses being bewildered by the absent father, and I was prepared to explain we broke up because he kept me from coffee. I debated what I should put on the birth certificate, after all, if the jerk didn't get me a mocha, and didn't come to the hospital because I stranded him, he didn't deserve to have his name on that certificate, maybe Starbucks did.

Somehow, rationality hit long enough for me to allow him back into the car. I triumphantly drove to the 24 hour Starbucks gloating as we drove up and cars sat waiting in the drive through. Snarkily, I tell him I'd get him a coffee, but they were closed, and I pointed out numerous times the open Starbucks. I ordered my treasured coffee, and reluctantly order his as well. I pulled out of the Starbucks and he looks at me and says "If you had said the name of the other cross-street, I would've known what you meant."

I glared at him and headed toward the hospital. Midway there, the coffee set in, and I realized how insane the whole scenario had become. We both ended up laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, and happily went to have our daughter. It's a good thing he loves me.

That is how Starbucks almost ended my marriage.

And the mocha was the best mocha I have had in my life. Totally worth it.