Mr. Coffee

I've decided to give coffee a chance. I do this at least twice a year (when I'm feeling particularly crummy) but it never seems to catch on.

Coffee...one of the cornerstones of American culture and quite possibly the glue that binds us together as a nation. Coffee...the thin veneer of civility that separates man from beast, the working class from the convicts.

Coffee...my husband's one true love.

I'm not sure when Chris' love affair with coffee began. I tend to think of it as something that's learned, an acquired taste. Usually under the stress of exams or swing shifts, or even peer pressure. How can somebody honestly like their first taste of coffee?

But Chris claims that he was born loving it. He tells me stories of eating coffee beans as a small child and nagging adults for sips. I have my own theory that, as a baby, he got separated from his parents (while they vacationed in Columbia) and was raised by a pack of wild coffee plants.

For whatever reason, though, he is thoroughly hooked. In fact, I'd venture to say that the health of our marriage relies heavily on his continued supply of coffee. Which is just one more thing for me to worry about now that Obama has been elected and the end of the world is surely near. Forget canned goods, bottled water, and ammunition....where can I get a half-ton of French Roast??!!

The only thing that makes Chris happier than sipping at this precious liquid, is the idea that maybe someday his wife will cross over to the Caffeinated Side and join him. And why shouldn't I? Everyone else in my family is there....happily scalding their tongues and stimulating their bladders every day!

Chris is convinced that it will bond us as husband and wife in a way that nothing else can. He's promised me a level of energy beyond my imagination, a reason to smile each and every moment of the day, and the ability to stay up late into the night with little or no consequence the next morning.

But I've noticed the down side. I've seen Chris push the limits and function on such a small amount of sleep that his personality falls unconscious. I've seen my mom vibrating when she's sitting still. I've seen a house full of grown adults get mood-swings and migraines just because someone was accidentally giving them decaf.

I've seen hordes of people, waiting in line at an over-priced coffee house while the economy goes into the toilet.

You'd think all this would be enough to keep me from this vile brew, but alas, it is not. The truth is that I would be addicted to coffee just as much as the next guy were it not for one very important thing...

It's taste.

A kick in the mouth would taste better to me than a sip of coffee. Rubbing alcohol would feel smoother on my tongue and a handful of dirt would leave me with a better aftertaste.

And don't think I haven't tried to disguise it! I've tried milk, sugar, fake sugar, flavored creamer, I've even mixed in copious amounts of hot Cocoa. The one time I got it just right, I realized that I had only included a teaspoon of actual coffee.

This time around, Chris thinks I should consider it a means to an end. Like a "plug your nose and choke it down if you want to feel better" type of medicine. The idea being that I'll learn to like it as time goes on.

I think I would be more likely to grow a beard and join the circus, but I hate to hurt his feelings.

So here I am, giving it the old college try...though I am perhaps doomed already since I never actually finished college.

Maybe coffee would have helped.


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