I don’t let a lot of things intimidate me. Actually, that’s a complete and total lie. I don’t even know what possessed me to even type those words out. I’m actually laughing, out loud, at myself. (No wonder I’m such an embarrassment to my children…) Many things do not intimidate me—blogging conferences, public singing, important people. But, many things do intimidate me, probably more than that don’t—making phone calls, immigration officers, hairdressers,

and Starbucks.

I swear. Starbucks intimidates me.

I really just want to drink coffee. But there’s something magical about the feeling of the inside of a Starbucks. There’s music (that’s usually crappy), there are comfy chairs (that are usually occupied), there are fancy cups (filled with overpriced drinks that I can’t pronounce), there are pieces of cake the size of my face (that will go straight to my ass). And yet, somehow I am drawn to the place. I walk in and think, “Oh, hello, sexy! Are you going to solve all of my problems today with your caffeine and your wi-fi?” but, of course, that is not what comes out of my mouth. Because, you see, Starbucks? INTIMIDATING. Once I get up to the counter, even after having a 20-minute line to practice my opening line, what comes out is neither suave nor, well, possibly even English.

“So, you know how you, like, have those pumpkin spice lattes? And well, you know how they are super sweet, right? Well, you put flavor shots, or pumps or something pumpkin flavored in them, right? Well, so, like, I’m wondering if it’s possible to get one of those shots or pumps or whatever just put into regular coffee?”

“Sure. What kind of coffee?”

“The hot kind?”

“What size?”

“Big?”

“How many pumps?”

“Um, one, I think? I don’t want it to be sweet at all.”

“OKAY! HERE’S YOUR DRINK! ENJOY!”

Liars. That is not my drink. I don’t know what it is, but it was gross.

And it didn’t taste at all like pumpkin.

And speaking of intimidating, want to know what else intimidates me?

I mean, why not, I am already embarrassing myself today…

Health food stores.

Oh yes.

So, on the recommendation of several lovely people, I wanted to start taking something called Greens+. It’s a superfood, and just the sound of that makes me think my poor body needs it. It’s supposed to be good for energy and for hair growth, which, if you have been following my hair saga at all, well, you know that I NEED MY HAIR TO GROW because I am super great at decisions and hairdressers intimidate me and so I let him cut off all of my hair and now I am practically bald and have The Rachel circa 1999.

Grow hair grow!

So, I walked into Ambrosia on Sunday afternoon.

And it looks just about how you expect every natural food store to look like. Everything is brown and there are lots of giant pill bottles lining the walls. (They want to pump. CLAP. Me up.) I squeezed past the group of cyclists all geared up in spandex to try to find this wonder stuff.

“I’m, um, looking for Greens+?”

“You are staring at it.”

“I am? Oh my god! Thanks!”

“Why do you want to take Greens+?”

“Well, because someone told me to.”

“I think you should try x, and y, and possibly even z.”

“Well, I think today I’m just going to buy some Greens+ in a flavor other than barn, thanks.”

“Try the natural tangerine. But, I really, think you might need x and y. Actually, I think you need all three. It looks like you do.”

“Hey, I eat a lot of quinoa. I am a healthy person.”

There was no question; he could smell the donuts I had eaten for breakfast and was silently judging me and was PUSHING THE DRUGS. They are drug pushers. Drug pushers, I tell you.

“Up to you.”

Pusher.

Also, totally a liar. Because even the tangerine tastes like farm.

Pray for quick hair growth. The last thing I need is to go back for X, Y, and Z.

It’s far too intimidating.