Coffee Talk

I'm trying again. With only one topic per time. Today's topic: Coffee.

My parents are coffee junkies. I know, a lot of you can say that about someone in your life. "Oh, Ted? He's a coffee addict for sure." You don't understand. You have not gone to strange locations late at night with your parents for a "coffee meeting" where snobs talk about the best regions for roasting. You do not know every member on staff in your parent's favourite coffee house. You do not constantly smell roasting coffee beans in the breeze off hand or bring homework to your teachers with the tell-tale stains of your parents mugs leaking onto them. So don't even begin to complain.

I used to hate coffee. It was gross, bitter, and overrated. People worship coffee. I think the reason Oklahoma has so many churches is so that people have an excuse to deal out free hot coffee to people once a week without looking strange. It's a place where people feed their addictions. Oh, and also learn about Jesus--but not before they get wired. Anyways, I was a hipster and thought coffee too mainstream. Shoot me up with some pricey foreign hot cocoa and I was good to go. Then, magically, one day, I hear an urge inside of me, calling out from within the depths of my tummy.

"Jenna," the urge whispered loudly. "Jenna, try a frappucino."

I resisted. Oh, did I resist. But one day, I hear the urge again while my mother was at Starbucks shooting up with a long named coffee I didn't dare to ever taste.

"Jenna." The urge was a bit cross now. "You try that frap or I'll kill you."

Not one to tussle with the likes of an angsty urge, I gave in. One carmel frappucino. Whipped cream and caramel sauce drizzled across like ink across a fluffy stark white page made entirely of hopes and dreams. Then I tasted it. Raised the concoction to my lips. And spat it out. It was gross, guys. SUPER gross. Tasted like cardboard and homeless. But the urge, she did not stray in her quest.

"Jenna, you moron. Go for the mocha."

I was hesitant. Why weren't urges more specific? I ordered again. Whipped cream. No special sauce. It looked boring. Blase. Old school. What was I thinking? How could I have ever trusted that urge? It was going to be filthy, just like my parents' coffee. But, I sipped it down, bitterly to prove the urge wrong.

OH. MY. SWEET. VEN. DIAGRAM.

It was heaven.

We have not parted since.

<3 Mocha frappucinos, I am your humble tastebud slave.