Dark Roasted Perfection

My husband used to tell me that if I drank coffee, I'd be the PERFECT woman.  The standard reply from the direction of the almost perfect woman?  "Well, if that's all it takes, then you don't have anything to complain about.  You're pretty well off!"  Granted, that was a few years back in our 21 years of history.  He may have added a few points to that list.  But I'm not asking.  Not today, anyway.

So, if we use that criterion for perfection, as of this past month I have arrived!  Break out the heralding horns, sound the alarms, and throw Jimmy a ticker tape parade.  His wife has transcended ho-hum in a 360 degree life radius.  Evidently this blonde IS having more fun because besides sporting my first tattoo, making the startling haircolor decision, and planning a solo trip to California, this previously non-java fan is now a weekend coffee drinker.  My handcrafted 12 ounce beverage of choice?  Caffe latte with soy -- very versatile, available as it is in both hot and iced.  Brilliant!  Oh, and if the bewitching hour of 3PM flies by on its broomstick, there is yet another wave of the menu wand to consider: decaf!

What precipitated this decision, I cannot say.  Though for the sake of vacation I would imbibe with a morning cup during some of our momentous trips together -- New York, Jamaica, New Orleans, Wyoming -- tipping the cuppa joe with regularity was not even under consideration.  It was almost a point of pride that I managed to avoid what I saw as a vice.  (Suffice it to say, the same can not be said for sugar and food in general . . . and I harbor an alarming dependence upon lip gloss and chapstick.)  Not to mention the shakes, nausea, and sweat attacks which generally follow most caffeinated bold- or mild-roasts that find their way into my system.

While the following confession runs the risk of lumping me in with the societal lemmings of the coffee world, I must reveal that it was, indeed, the popular Starbucks chain which influenced my decision.  Now, my baby brother insists he deserves a share of the responsibility for my side-switching move as he notes that he planted subconscious messages within my brain, chipping away at my pseudo resolve, for years upon years.  Okay.  Fine.  The two of them may share top honors space in this landmark decision.

My husband and I began meeting at SB's once a week, Saturday mornings, to spend time as a couple in a casual chatty atmosphere away from the house.  Then, we integrated varying combinations of kids into the mix, sometimes moving into a Wednesday evening.  Always, always, I ordered herbal tea, or hot water for my own tea bag, or splurged on occasion with a chai tea latte.  Then, the Earth Divas informally designated another locally run coffee house, JoZoara's, as our main hangout.  It was steaming mate tea and mahjongg all around.  But the rich scent of fair-trade coffee hung in the air and teased the olfactory senses.

After some experimentation, again, totally unplanned but not forgotten once executed, I found out that eating before experiencing coffee reduced the effects of the brewed beverage on my body.  And, as long as I did not go over one shot of espresso in my drinks, the hyperactive jitters were easily managed.  Aside from the negative influences I mentioned, coffee makes me feel good.  Coffee incites my brain to meander into inspired thought.

We already were major contributors to Starbuck's bottom line (though JoZoara's iced latte with soy milk is head and shoulders above SB's).  Now, I feel it's only fair I be presented with stock options by company heads.  The sooner the better.

Though my new life choice is barely out of diapers, it has captured my heart . . . and evidently my mind.  Just the other day, while out running errands and taking care of kids' stuff, after the morning 3 miles and garden watering, I eagerly anticipated the free 12 ounce handcrafted beverage of my choice that was coming my way once I bought the 1 pound bag of coffee beans for my spouse.  But I don't think you understand: I THOUGHT about it.  I could TASTE it on my tongue.  I even practiced the name so as not to err at ordering.  I was pumped and ready and assigned it a top priority spot.  You can imagine the deep disappointment I felt when the friendly guy behind the counter (my neighbor's son, no less) insisted that my 12 ounce drink was simply plain coffee.  I reluctantly accepted his decree and walked off to the car with my house brew.

Only to discover per my iPhone -- with its wonderful e-mail capacity -- that my interpretation of the e-mail was dead-on.  I was right.  I was indignant.  And, I made sure to return to the store two days later, with the e-mail message ON the screen, receipt in hand, to claim my free and true reward.

THAT'S how I know I'm a coffee convert.  That and the fact that this entire leggy blog entry has focused on said miracle beverage.  So, you tell me.  Have I gone too far and compromised my personal integrity and good health . . . or am I just having fun?