Gasps are heard round the world, I know, because I drink it. Faithfully. I order lattes and mochas and no milk, no sugar iced coffees and I brew a pot every morning and I heat up cups throughout the day and I am not fully started on my work morning without a cup of Joe.
But I'm not convinced I love the taste.
I will drink weak coffee and strong coffee, and gas station coffee that has sat for days. I will try any road side coffee stand, even in the middle of the Yukon where a family from Seattle must try the mocha to give an honest Seattle Coffee Lovers opinion (which we smiled and said great and drove a few miles down the road and dumped it out the window). I will drink it hot and cold and even room temperature. I will drink it straight up black with no frills, or with a drop of cream or with a swirl of French Vanilla. I will drink it up and down and sideways, one straw, two straws, no straw.
Yet I keep coming around to the idea that I don't love the taste.
I would question myself and ask if I'm an addict, but I can go days without it. I can go camping and not suffer the unbearable withdrawals....but I miss it. I miss the ritual of measuring the grounds and hearing the coffee pot start to perk. I miss the aroma and the feel of holding a warm mug in my hand. I miss that first bit of morning, when the world is quiet and I'm giving myself another 15 minutes to sit and relax and drink my coffee.
I like the comfortable routine of starting my day off with a cup of hot beverage. And since I positively hate tea, coffee is for me!
This post is inspired by prompt #1 at Mama's Losin' It!