I'm considering cheating on my chaiwallah.
Now, this doesn't have anything to do with my feelings towards Deet; as faithful readers of this blog will know I adore the man--what with his Buffy the Vampire Slayer wardrobe and dashing monkey-fighting ways. It doesn't even have anything to do with his chai--I maintain that Deet mixes as tasty a cup of spiced tea as I've had in Delhi. He also faithfully brings it to my desk three times a day--instinctively at the exact moment I'm craving something hot and sweet.
But sometimes a girl just needs variety, you know? And there's this guy . . .
He sits just outside the office every day with nothing but a stray dog and his kettle of steaming chai for company. (Ok, I guess sometimes he does have some actual friends with him for company). His chai smells so good that my mouth waters every time I walk by. And I know he's noticed me, noticing him. Noticing his chai.
I just want to taste it, you know? Just once. Just to see.
But, I can't bring myself to do it. I mean, he's literally right outside of the office. What if Deet sees me ordering chai from someone else? In fact, just the other day, as I was standing across from the street chaiwallah, trying to subtly ascertain how one orders street chai, Deet came to the front door and saw me watching the street chaiwallah, practically drooling. At first Deet's brows furrowed a bit, but then he broke out into his usual grin as if to say "What have I to worry about? Surely Kate would never leave the delicious, reliable chai I brew her for the vagaries of a street chaiwallah?"
I felt ashamed and rushed into the office. I could barely look at Deet when he handed me my afternoon chai. He's right, you know? Street chai could be dangerous--who knows what kind of water is used.
But I just can't stop thinking about tasting the street chai. And one of these days I fear that my chai-lust might override my better sense . . .
Now, this doesn't have anything to do with my feelings towards Deet; as faithful readers of this blog will know I adore the man--what with his Buffy the Vampire Slayer wardrobe and dashing monkey-fighting ways. It doesn't even have anything to do with his chai--I maintain that Deet mixes as tasty a cup of spiced tea as I've had in Delhi. He also faithfully brings it to my desk three times a day--instinctively at the exact moment I'm craving something hot and sweet.
But sometimes a girl just needs variety, you know? And there's this guy . . .
He sits just outside the office every day with nothing but a stray dog and his kettle of steaming chai for company. (Ok, I guess sometimes he does have some actual friends with him for company). His chai smells so good that my mouth waters every time I walk by. And I know he's noticed me, noticing him. Noticing his chai.
I just want to taste it, you know? Just once. Just to see.
But, I can't bring myself to do it. I mean, he's literally right outside of the office. What if Deet sees me ordering chai from someone else? In fact, just the other day, as I was standing across from the street chaiwallah, trying to subtly ascertain how one orders street chai, Deet came to the front door and saw me watching the street chaiwallah, practically drooling. At first Deet's brows furrowed a bit, but then he broke out into his usual grin as if to say "What have I to worry about? Surely Kate would never leave the delicious, reliable chai I brew her for the vagaries of a street chaiwallah?"
I felt ashamed and rushed into the office. I could barely look at Deet when he handed me my afternoon chai. He's right, you know? Street chai could be dangerous--who knows what kind of water is used.
But I just can't stop thinking about tasting the street chai. And one of these days I fear that my chai-lust might override my better sense . . .
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