Sipping into love

Okay, Coffee. Let’s stop pretending. You know it’s love, and so do I. Enough of this insane game of hide-and-seek. I can’t sneak off to the cafeteria in the middle of the day anymore, or slip into a secluded café on the way home from work.

Instead of hurried, embarrassed mornings, let’s take it slow. We can get a little French press together. You can relax and brew, then peruse the latest New Yorker with me before I hop on my bike. Sometimes I’ll even give you a lift. My car’s nothing fancy, but it does have a seat made just for you.

And Coffee, when the time comes to add a little fun, I know you’ll be a great partner. I can use raw sugar and soy milk if I want, without having to beg for it or pay extra. And if I have leftover heavy cream now and then, that will serve well as… you know, a special treat. You’d like a special treat now and then, wouldn’t you?

I admit that this is as much for me as it is for you. Why go out and spend tons of cash when I can have my love at home? And I’ll know I’ve gotten someone with a good upbringing—growing up sitting in the shade, those pristine beans of yours never picking up chemical enhancements or odd, sticky coatings.

And I’ll respect myself more once I admit to this love, Coffee. I’ll stay away from others I’ve reached out to in times of desperation—nasty riff-raff I picked up at gas stations, suitors with names like Starbucks and Godiva who are sweet but cold,  machine-enhanced frothy things flaunting their richness. No, I’ll know that you came directly from the healthfood store to me. Our lives will be simple and warm, gentle and loving.

Coffee, you’ve ground me down and I’m giving in. So shall we get brewing?