My Cuppa

Morning. Coffee. Serious coffee. I'm not messing around. No Folger's trying to be fancy by calling itself Costa Rican blend. No way. I'm talking Pike's Place blend. I'm talking French Roast. Give me Starbucks. Bold coffee. I don't care if it's over roasted. If they've put some magical substance in it to make me crazy addicted. I love it. One cup is all I need... want. And I can tell the difference.

I know. It's a recession. I'm supposed to be ok with generic labels and Folgers. But I'm not. I can't take it. I just won't drink it. I tried. I tell you. I tried.

At least I'm buying my ten dollar bag of ground coffee (number 4 drip) and making it at home. That's recession-y, isn't it?

And then there is the creamer. I can't do sugar and milk. Ugh. It's gotta be french vanilla full on fatty sugary fakey goodness. NO WAY to the fat free crap. I just can't take it.

The morning can be hard enough with waking up. But give me Folger's-fake-lable-costa-rican-blend-with-sugar-free-fat-free-coffee-mate and I am a roaring b*tch in my head all day. This means I may be smiling at you, but that glimmer in my eye is not some special hidden joy, but rather a deepening only-child-I-didn't-get-what-I-want rage and I'd advise you to back the frak off.

But not today. Today I'm smiling satisfactorily knowing that I have my perfect cuppa at an easy reach. I can handle anything. I can host a friggin United Nations Summit if you asked me. I believe it's magic.