I’ve never gotten the hang of drinking coffee. Lattes, cappuchinos, mochas, espressos. Tall or grande. Whipped, cinn, cream, sugar, low-fat, non-fat, steamed… Nope, just never have been able to do the coffee house thing. As a result, my life is tragically unhip as I look back at my failed coffee drinking college years and my decent into mediocrity.
Oh, it’s not for lack of trying. I’ve sat in the French Quarter and ordered a cafe ole and beignets. I traveled to Nice on a train and ordered an espresso. I jived at the local coffee house with a latte. I even attempted coolness with a sumatra. But I still just don’t get it. So I, the lone tea drinker, stick out like a sore thorn among the roses.
Now, I can no longer face going into the coffee houses. Friends talk and laugh as they enter discussing what brew to try today while I stand alone outside, waiting. And unlike parties or bars, carrying around a cup of coffee doesn’t work. My life as an outcast, non-coffee drinker has been set.