That does not compute

With eggs scrambled and bread toasted, with Mrs. R. lifted from bed and set in her wheel chair and wheeled to the table, I started to work on her coffee – decaffeinated, heaping teaspoon of sugar, thickening mixture (older people often choke on normal texture liquids, so addition of a thickening agent enables swallowing) and a little 2 percent milk. When the coffee was fixed, I took the cup to the table and set it beside Mrs. R.’s plate. I asked Priscilla, “Do you want coffee?” She replied, “Yes.” I asked, “Which kind of cup would you like?”, meaning 38th Reconnaissance Squadron, Girl Scouts, or Obama Sucks, which really doesn’t say that, but indicates the idea from “Obama’s accomplishments: and “Blame Bush: xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.” Priscilla said, “I would like the bistro cup, please.”

My mind: The what? What is a bistro cup?

I asked, “Which one is that?”

“The plain white one.”

Now I know. I think. If the she meant the shape of the plain white cup.