Ain’t nothing wrong with a little coffee grind
Some people don’t get it. Others, like me, get it and love it. It’s delicious, hot, steamy and irresistible. Coffee, the nectar of life.
I am not a home brewer. I am a Starbucks girl. I like to support the local coffee shops from time to time; Loaded Joe’s makes a great cup and The French Press is my favorite place for a hazelnut latte. But there is something incredibly comforting about the familiarity of my Starbucks.
No matter where I am, if I spy that green-and-white sign, it makes me smile. Ah, home. Back to the mother ship. I love that I can walk into any Starbucks and feel as if I’ve been there before. I don’t care that they’re a multi-national conglomerate, they make lovely drinks.
And it’s not just the beverages; it’s the entire ritual surrounding it. The Starbucks lingo is essential for getting your drink just the way you like it. There’s also the social aspect. Nearly every time I’m there I see someone I know. It all just makes me so happy. My Starbucks stop is my favorite part of the day.
Last Saturday I walked into the Edwards Starbucks to find a pretty healthy line. I wasn’t sure if the man standing in No Man’s Land (that area between the order place and the pick-up place) was in line. So I asked him. His reply cracked me up.
“No! I don’t drink coffee.”
Where a simple “no” would have sufficed, he felt the need to distance himself from the rest of us, the coffee swillers. He needed to clarify that he was not part of this coffee cult, that he was above all that, superior to those of us who love the bean.
My husband is in the same camp. He doesn’t get the whole coffee craze. He just doesn’t like the taste of it. I believe his actual words were, “Why would you take a bean with dirt on it, throw it in a cup of hot water and call it tasty?” He recently asked me about my coffee consumption and actually called it an addiction.
Addiction? I’m not addicted. That makes it sound so sordid. My latte is a beautiful thing. There’s nothing like the joy that springs up when the barista calls out my venti nonfat latte. I love the feel of that warm, smooth, white cup in my hands as I walk over to the cream and sugar station. After I put in a little sugar and a splash of half-and-half, to give it some body, it’s the perfect shade of beige. I wonder if The Paint Bucket can color match paint with a latte. Then there’s the first sip from that little hole in the plastic lid – hmmmm, heaven. And the boost of energy that comes after the last swallow. I’m a high energy person to start with – some have even called me hyper – but I love that extra dose the caffeine gives me. Oh, wait a minute. That does sound like addiction. Oh well, there are worse things.
Some of my family and friends get it. I got no less than five Starbucks cards as gifts over the holidays. That’s enough to keep me caffeinated for two, maybe three months. Alright, I’ve already burned through them. But I was at risk for post-holiday depression in January. And we didn’t have many sunny days. And I was tired. And the truth of the matter is, coffee makes me a better woman.
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