[Jonathan Caws-Elwitt suggests that someone should write] "a humorous midlife-crisis novel called Coffee Name, about someone who gives a barista a fake, 'easy' name with his or her drink order (which, for anyone who doesn't know, is sometimes called a 'coffee name')... and then, catching the eye of an attractive stranger and acting on a crazy impulse, assumes the coffee name 'for real,' along with a radically different identity and personality, and begins indulging in an exuberant fantasy lifestyle he/she never dared pursue before. So, basically, the old 'new identity' formula, with a cute new premise/title. [For example]:
"Oh!" she said. "Sorry."
"No problem, Blake," he replied cheerfully.
Blake? Oh, right, Clotilde reminded herself, that's what I just gave as my coffee name. And, wow, was this guy nice looking when he smiled. She'd seen him almost every day at the cafe--they'd even exchanged pleasantries--but she'd never noticed how cute he was.
Why wasn't it socially acceptable to just ask for a relative stranger's phone number in line at a coffee joint on a Monday morning? Why did it have to be a bar on a Friday night?
Maybe if she were really a woman called Blake, instead of Clotilde the harried corporate accountant, she'd do things like that. Maybe if...
The impulse overcame her before she had the opportunity to resist it. "Hey, could I maybe call you next weekend? I'll be down on Cape May painting a mural all week, but I'll be back on Friday."
A chill ran through her as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Clotilde knew damn well she didn't have an artistic bone in her body. Where the hell had this Cape May painter stuff come from? If she was going to lie in order to impress a hot guy, surely she could have found an easier way to do it than faking a mural.
"I'd love that, Blake." His smile broadened. "Wow, an artist, huh?"
"Yeah, an artist," Clotilde answered, with a manic giggle. There was no turning back now.