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A Fog Who Loafes

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There's truly nothing better than the combination of a fog and a friend. If I had to choose two things to bring with me to a desert island, it would be those two things. The fog probably wouldn't do much to help with my rescue from said island - but if the fog was good enough - why would I want to leave? I have a fog, a friend, and a private desert island. Paradise.  This was my first time in Loafe - and my goodness, I love the presentation. The red just popped, and that font? Completely whimsical. If I could sign my name with such finesse, each federal tax form would be a work of art! My only thought, 'loafe'? I can't tell if it's closer to 'loaf', as in bread, or 'loafers', as in fashionable footwear. I do like the mental picture of loafing in loafers with a loaf and a loafe in hand - so I'll let it slide.  The fog within the cup fulfilled my every wish. Sweet, foamy, plentiful. It's the kind of fog that makes you feel the ground a litt...
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A Spilled Tea Fog

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Sometimes it's necessary to spill the tea with some tea. Not just any tea though - juicy, sweet, special - just like a good Fog. Where tea is a Toyota Prius, a London Fog is a low-riding 1962 black Corvette with the top down with the wind in your hair as you're blasting toward a sunset in the Midwestern US.  Today the tea was spilled on a warm summer afternoon. Have you been able to tell I've entirely abandoned any timeline on my Fog posts? Time is irrelevant in Fog-world.  There's something incredibly special about having an excited conversation while gently holding a warm drink. It allows you to sit back in your chair, cross your legs, hold your hands, and listen.  Visual examples include (but are not limited to) an older therapist sitting back in their chair, whose eyes are still full of wonder despite having heard it all; a timely old grandperson adjusting their recliner to listen to their six-year-old grandchild talk endlessly about their activities at school; ...
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Fog in the Mountain

 This was no ordinary London Fog, no, no. From 4,038 feet above sea level, in an embarrassingly sweat-soaked golf shirt, I found myself in line to purchase a Fog from a small cafe inside the main building on top of Grouse Mountain. I had just completed the Grouse Grind (very successfully might I add) and couldn't think of a better beverage to cool myself down and impress a friend's boyfriend of whom I was meeting for the first time.  The cafe itself was more of a counter than a cafe, really. There was a limited selection of other traditional cafe beverages (None of which I cared for, naturally) along with six drawings of mountain-dwelling species with unhinged names - a grizzly bear named something like Goeff, and a Deer named Daisy, if my memory serves me right. I doubt these were the animals' actual names. The first-letter-animal-name-pairing would certainly lead to a troubling middle school experience.  Aside from the Cafe's relatively 'chill' decor, I ordere...
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