I wish I liked coffee. I really do.
I have this idea that if I liked coffee I’d be more sophisticated. Just a little more glamorous.
If I liked coffee I probably wouldn’t have such a potty mouth. I’d be fresh like driven snow!
If I liked coffee I probably wouldn’t be sitting here in yoga pants and an old Brew Thru tee shirt. I’d be wearing culottes and a jaunty scarf around my neck!
I just think that if I could get behind a morning cup of java, I’d be the best version of myself.
But, alas, I can’t stand the stuff. And I’ve tried!
Instead I prefer to attend business meeting with a 153 oz. fountain soda in hand. Arrive at family functions with a 2 liter tucked in my pocket. Wear my soda love on my sleeve.
What can I say?
Intellectually I know that it’s undignified to slurp out of a bottle or can in polite company, but soda has remained a hold-over comfort from my schooling days and I refuse to give it up.
And now my daily diet soda has taken the place of my childhood security blanket. I feel unprepared without it. Naked until it’s in hand. Mentally verklempt until I’ve started my journey to the bottom of the koozie-protected can (Yes, it’s a Brew Thru koozie and yes, I’m officially a hot mess.).
