Coffee
Being the good little Mormon girl that I am, I don't drink coffee. My maternal grandmother, however, was a number of things two of which were: (1) Not Mormon, and (2) the kind of woman who always had a pot brewing.
I grew up loving the smell of coffee. It meant "grandparents" to me. I might have even tried it, had my sister not accidentally tricked me into trying it. How can one "accidentally trick" someone else? Simple.
Allow me...
There we were, two high school sisters, different as apples and oranges, yet we made a great fruit bowl. We had many mutual friends, one of who (I later learned) had a massive thing for me. This could have been promising, or, at the very least, flattering, had she not been a she; but I digress.
The three of us were at the local coffee shop one night (of which there was only one), our friend had her coffee, my sister had hers — dark roast, black., and I had my very conservative herbal tea. We talked and talked and drained more than one cup of each beverage. At one point, I picked up my glass and swirled my tea around. I remember thinking that I had finished it, but apparently I had one more swallow left. Thirst I picked it up, put it to my lips and just about knocked it back as my sister - in shock - said, "Wait! Gorp! That's my coffee!" It was the nastiest thing I have ever tasted. Thus, any desire I may have later gained in life for coffee was nipped in the bud.
Over the years, however, I have still loved the smell.
Until, that is, I started working at InternetCompany. CubeBuddy is a coffee drinker. She drinks it like I drink water — constantly. I don't know what she does to it, but it is quite possibly the worst smelling coffee to which I have ever had the displeasure of being exposed. I don't know what she does to it, but <gah!> sick!
You'll be pleased to note, then, that I think I solved the mystery of her additives: as I walked by her desk this morning I noticed sitting next to her coffee cup an open can of V-8. Now, I hope it's not what I think it is. If it is — well, I really don't know what to say about that.
I grew up loving the smell of coffee. It meant "grandparents" to me. I might have even tried it, had my sister not accidentally tricked me into trying it. How can one "accidentally trick" someone else? Simple.
Allow me...
There we were, two high school sisters, different as apples and oranges, yet we made a great fruit bowl. We had many mutual friends, one of who (I later learned) had a massive thing for me. This could have been promising, or, at the very least, flattering, had she not been a she; but I digress.
The three of us were at the local coffee shop one night (of which there was only one), our friend had her coffee, my sister had hers — dark roast, black., and I had my very conservative herbal tea. We talked and talked and drained more than one cup of each beverage. At one point, I picked up my glass and swirled my tea around. I remember thinking that I had finished it, but apparently I had one more swallow left. Thirst I picked it up, put it to my lips and just about knocked it back as my sister - in shock - said, "Wait! Gorp! That's my coffee!" It was the nastiest thing I have ever tasted. Thus, any desire I may have later gained in life for coffee was nipped in the bud.
Over the years, however, I have still loved the smell.
Until, that is, I started working at InternetCompany. CubeBuddy is a coffee drinker. She drinks it like I drink water — constantly. I don't know what she does to it, but it is quite possibly the worst smelling coffee to which I have ever had the displeasure of being exposed. I don't know what she does to it, but <gah!> sick!
You'll be pleased to note, then, that I think I solved the mystery of her additives: as I walked by her desk this morning I noticed sitting next to her coffee cup an open can of V-8. Now, I hope it's not what I think it is. If it is — well, I really don't know what to say about that.
posted by granola girl at 12:16 am
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