The story of drinking coffee.

coffee. i hate you. i love you.

for twenty-four years of my life, i abhorred the taste of

it didn’t matter whether it w a cup of black ja a or a double chocolaty
as v
chip frappuccino with whipped cream on top.

i hated it all the same.

(almost as much as I hate adult cartoons)

but the funny thing w as, i
loved the idea of coffee.

of being a hip coffee house dweller.

of having an order so complicated it borders on insane.

of toting around the logo of the latest ‘undiscovered’ anti-starbucks establishment.

of a hot barista hastil scribbling ‘you’re cute’
y
alongside his number on the side of my cup.

of actuall being a ake, i mean eyes bulging open a ake, in the morning.
y w w

my hatred for coffee turned into pure determination to love it.

i started with a little sip here and there.

but i still couldn’t imagine myself paying over three dollars for something so disgusting.

that w until i finished my first full cup.
as

which must ha been pure caffeine.
ve

i w bouncing off the w
as alls.
buzzzzzzzing around the office.
more a ake than i’d felt in years.
w

aside from my visibl shaking body.
y

but i finall felt that spark i’d been seeking.
y

ok it w more like a high-powered jolt.
as
but it w fabulous.
as

no more embarrassing hot chocolate orders for me.

i’m a mature coffee drinking adult now.

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