I am in the midst of an affair. I know I should give it up. I know it’s not good for me. But everyone morning I wake and the desire is strong. Some mornings I am happy for it to be cheap, quick and dirty. Proffered from the Aldi coffee machine (because I am too tight for Nespresso).
I pat myself on the back for saving money and ignore the guilt about the land-filling pod I am recklessly throwing away. I take a sip of the sweet, sweet nectar and feel it work through my exhausted bones.Then boys need attending to and lunches must be made. The object of my ardent affection sits alone, growing cooler by the second until it’s unceremoniously thrown down the sink.
Sometimes my love affair leads me to my local coffee shop. The barrista knows my face and my order. The coffee is exceptional and I close my eyes in anticipation as the first frothy goodness touches my lips. I sigh and embrace my skinny cappuccino with both hands. Fingers entwined around the takeaway cup. Sometimes my barrista takes the day off. Someone else prepares the coffee and it’s never as good. I try to fake it but I think he sees it my eyes.
Sometimes I will be out with friends at a cafe. The coffee will be a gamble. A chance encounter and a touch of excitement. At times it will be lovely and at times barely passable. But even when it’s bad, it’s still good. Sometimes I know I will go back for more, and other times I know I will never ask for it again. But they always ask $4, no matter the quality. And I pass over my coins willingly in exchange for that milky brown liquid, that happiness in a cup. And the chance to drink it still warm. Coupled with good conversation, what could be better?