Love Reformed

Discovering that I still don’t like coffee was a strange yet validating experience. I had always said that I hate coffee, but with all the time I spent at my coffee shops writing and that fortunes of cash that have flowed into Caribou (how I miss it) and Starbucks always made people look at me funny when I would make the afore mentioned claim. After a time, I conceded that I indeed had become an old stereotype and followed the crowd and became addicted to coffee. Therefore, the first week with the coffee maker made me take another evaluation. Each morning was horrible. I loved the smell of the coffee beans, which I didn’t used to. . . However, I didn’t so much enjoy the smell of the coffee, nor did I like the taste—the same experience as the one time I drank some as a kid. I tried different coffees, different amounts, different grinds. All the same. Yuck. I finally admitted that I still don’t like coffee. What I do like is the heat of it and all the gratuitous amounts of chopped up candy, chocolate, caramel, and other dessert spices my drug dealers put in their products. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to do this at home. Yes, I know that reason I love Caribou was their confetti of snickers within my turtle mocha. However, I don’t wanna pay for snickers at home, and if I had to stand at the counter and cut up snickers, I would actually have to face the truth that I am dumping candy bars into my drink and might as well slice open my belly and ass and stuff it with Crisco. In reparation I have resorted to a trick I learned at Outdoor Lab this year. Two packets of Swiss Miss hot chocolate in the bottom of my coffee. It’s not like my drugs of choice, but it will suffice. This morning, as I waited for the coffee to finish brewing, I shook my Swiss Miss (giggle) back and forth. Without realizing what was happing, the edge of my Swiss Miss ripped with the force of my jostle. The edge of the packet stayed in my grasp while the chocolaty envelope tore free, flew in an arch over my head and landed on the floor across the room, a chocolate dusty rainbow marking its flight for liberation through the room. As I felt some of the rainbow shower down on me, I glanced at the floor. Dolan thought Christmas had come early and cavorted around the kitchen, tongue making quick work of the coco confetti. It an act that seems to personify the lack of perfection and give-a-rat’s-ass-attitude, I gave a shrug, bent down and picked up the packet and emptied what was left into my addiction container, poured my coffee and left the house. It’s been a hard year, for all three of us. Who am I to deny Dolan a morning miracle? Hell, I could sure use some sweetness descending from above.
(BTW, if someone feels the need to inform me how much fat is in Swiss Miss and compare it to Snickers, you need to resist the urge. While I am typically fairly docile, my temperament seems to be changing, and I’d hate for you to be the first recipient of latent hostility.)