|This? Totally me. If I didn't wear|
glasses. And was a cartoon.
I have this awful aching in my chest. Specifically, an ache deep in my heart where it is broken because it's time to wean myself from International Delight Iced Coffee.
We've had a lot of good times together. But now we're totally bonded to the point of attachment issues. Specifically, iced coffee won't leave me the heck alone. So it's with a heavy heart that I know it's time to separate for a while.
|Roll Tide. This is actually my 4:30 a.m. |
pre-triathlon picture because
remember when I did a triathlon?
Every morning I wake up and spring from my bed knowing I get to have iced coffee. I turn on the computer, pad over to the refrigerator in my stocking feet, reach in and gently remove the half gallon container of mocha deliciousness. I gather my favorite mug from the upper shelf of the kitchen cabinets (light green from IKEA, just so you can picture this)(the mug, not my cabinets)(and I might be climbing on the counter to reach it)(just kidding, Brian)(and wearing super cozy wide leg cotton jammie pants)(yes, jammie pants)(and probably my Alabama sweatshirt)(because: Alabama is number one).
I measure out one cup of iced coffee and carefully pour it into the waiting vessel. (I briefly consider using a funnel to transfer the coffee from measuring cup to coffee mug but veto this idea because of the potential for wasting coffee when some clings to the funnel.)(Because who wants to spend their morning trying to suck the droplets of leftover brew from the inside of a tiny funnel
|You probably shouldn't bother|
me until I've had some caffeine.
I delicately plop two ice cubes into my waiting drink. Two ice cubes is the perfect amount; two offers a subtle chill and also a slight texture variation in my drinking experience. Any amount greater than two and the ice cubes become obstacles to sipping. I look down at my mug and whisper, "Hello, Friend. You're looking well today. It's been a long time. Too long." And it has. Been too long, I mean. Like, literally hours.
Now that all is perfectly prepared, I walk excitedly over to the computer and sit down. Now I can drink.
This is where you ask, "Oh Kelly, this seems to be something that adds so much pleasure to your life namely because International Delight Iced Coffee is the best invention in the history of all inventions including, but not limited to, Atari, the flushing toilet, and baby wipes*."
(*Baby wipes? Oh no you didn't. But please, go on dear reader who is thoughtfully asking all the right questions in order that I can segue into the last portion of this post.)
"It seems to me, my super talented and, if we are being candid here, my extremely gorgeous friend and favorite blogger in the
But that's just it, my friends. It is adding so much to my life. (Unfortunately it is not adding to my bank account in a way that suggests International Delight has recognized the opportunity for sponsorship and pays me to plug them on my blog that reaches the untold masses every day of the work week.) But it is successfully adding to my hips. And my belly. And my tush. It really wants to add to my chin as well, because maybe my chin is feeling lonely and tired of being single and just wants a mate for the rest of the days and is that really too much to ask?
Yes. It is too much to ask, chin. And get used to it, I'm legally making sure you are referred to as "chin" and never "chins" again. (Because I'm the boss of you, chin.)
If I had more self-control I could handle just one little delicious cup of 150 calories every morning, but usually that self-control flies out the window around 3:00 p.m. when I'm all, "Don't MAKE me call your father" to the kiddos that are driving me insane and all I really want is a N.A.P.
So it is with an awful aching in my chest that I say a goodbye to my beloved coffee.
*sniff* *sniff* *single dramatic tear rolling down my