"Vanilla latte!" the barista calls, "and a mocha frappe!"
The girls, smiling, skip to the counter to retrieve their overflowing cups of well deserved goodness and then return to their Geo-political discussions, unmarked reminders of their professionalism aside. As they continue their conversation, they find themselves in a state of discontent. They turn their mugs this way and that, confused. Frustrated. How, they wonder, are they supposed to actually consume their coffees from these lovely mugs that they celebrated just three minutes ago?
And then they note the folks around them who are staring and giggling at the girls' blatant awkwardness.
"Ah, go ahead. Put your face in it," one particularly large man on the corner couch brays in between unanswered blue tooth demands.
And they heed the advice with complete determination (or was it defiance?), remembering the words extolled by their new, matching, oddly sagacious fridge magnets:
"Ever notice that what the hell is always the right decision?"
"Forget you, Vanity! We will not be held back by society's presumptuous laws of decorum! " they silently exclaim to one another in a single glance. With a shadow of a smirk, their eyebrows raised, they dive in head first.
As they emerge from their mugs, victorious- the coffee conflict conquered- they declare, in their most confident warble to the man on the couch and to all of the other distracted caffeine connoisseurs, "We like whipped cream on our noses! So there! Take that!"
And they did.