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...]