You were tall, dark, bittersweet. Snuggled into my hand perfectly, a sleek, white paper cup, enclosed your warm, aromatic character. While sitting next to my future husband, discussing our personal lives, I fell in love with you. You kept us company, a new, exciting paramour for me; an old, friendly buddy for him. Was this the soul mate I sought, meant to withstand the test of time?
My own personal coffee craze clicked around my mid-20s and coincided with meeting my husband. During the long distance relationship we maintained, all our date weekends consisted of a rich cup of coffee, frequently at Starbucks or at a trendy coffee shop. Many coffee aficionados scoff at Starbucks, once referred to by a relative as McCoffee, but I adored the coffee there, bold and delicious. We sat near a window, coffees clutched in our hands. Hot and inviting in the winter, iced and refreshing in the summer, I relished the taste.
Coffee in the morning, revving me up for work; decaffeinated coffee in the evening, complimenting desserts I consumed. I hid my secret passion for coffee from co-workers who offered me metallic, stale coffee which I declined each time. Why would I ruin an orgasmic coffee assignation by drinking coffee from a kitchen where cockroaches once occupied the toaster and inconsiderate fish stunk up the microwave? Discussing coffee at work, a friend mentioned that I didn’t drink coffee. I quickly revealed my secret, proclaiming, “I don’t drink this coffee!” [Read more...]