No Tea, No Sanity (Part 2)

One way or another, he’ll come back to me. He’s blocked me everywhere and he’s stealing my online presence from me. Christian and I are stronger together than apart. I miss the bickering and the plate smashing and the saucy make-up sex that came after it. We’ve had children too, not always together but we do love them. I love the attention I got from being pregnant, but I had no maternal instinct. I let my cousin adopt them in the end. I’ve not seen any of them since. Sounds harsh, but that’s the way it is. Violet wanted kids and couldn’t have any. Christian was too busy pumping iron with his customers to care about them. It all worked out in the end.

Sympathy is all I want from my friends, but I doubt I will receive any. Worth a try though.

Here I am, with Agnes, Bethany and Ivy. We're regulars at Sensei Lee's Bubble Tea Palace. Believe me; it's no palace. On the outside, this is the average coffee shop you'd find in Chinatown. The owner hardly spent a dime building this place, and it shows. What did he think when he put aqua chairs by orange table and burlesque curtains? The disco lights hurt my eyes and the music sucks. What's even worse is Agnes wailing the cringeworthy lyrics to the horrific nineties music. One would think, what the hell am I doing here?

As we take group selfies in various angles and pouts, I can't help but feel that we look like we belong on a Christmas tree. I've got every shade of purple imaginable on my hair. Bethany has huge pink hair to go with that big mouth of hers. Agnes has blue pigtails with heart-shaped clips. Then there's Ivy with hair down to her knees; her scalp reminds me of a four-leaf clover.

I like it here, even though it looks like hooker's boudoir. Not saying that there's nothing wrong with that, I quite like it but you know what some people are like: always so picky. Wanna know the funniest bit? The owner's name isn't Lee; it's Abdul.

I can never understand what he's saying because of his horrid leopard print scarf. He's a good lad though, always knows what we want. Ivy has a black coffee and nothing else. Bethany has honeydew melon milk tea with black tapioca balls swimming at the bottom, a bowl of noodles and a burger. Agnes has... I don't know; it looks weird and gross. The tapioca and red anku beans drowning in pale green slush with custard, cheese and grated Oreos on top.

My drink is the best. Abdul only makes 13 of them a day. It's thirteen bucks for a cup, but it's one of the most decadent and delicious drinks I have ever had in my life. Just thinking about it gives me the food equivalent to an orgasm. It's my number one anxiety-killer-blues-killing drink: Sensei Lee's Super-Sparkly-Unicorn Latte. Instagram filters aren't necessarily with the rainbow swirls, glittering cream and chocolate sprinkles. Nobody knows, but me that there is alcohol in this... just a little bit though.

All three of my friends gaze in awe. Here they are sitting with one of the biggest make-up and beauty vloggers on the internet. If only I felt like a superstar. "I'm pregnant."

"Again!" Bethany squeals. "Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to have a baby?"

"My channel is losing subscribers," I moan, holding back tears. "Christian's left me. So half of my sponsorships are gone."

Bethany slams the table. "What's that got to do with having a baby?"