Some days I suck down my coffee like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
You would think I started young, a precocious 5 year old drinking coffee with her father or a 12 year old hiding in the corner of a Starbucks with her friends. I’m here to tell you, no. I started drinking this glorified bean juice when I was 27, only after years of my partner at the time guzzling down 2+ pots a day.
I was tired and sluggish and thought well if it keeps him going, but in this a phenomena unfolded.
I didn’t want him to know. If drinking coffee brought me tranquility I just knew he would disparage it. In my mind he was already painting it as an idolization of him.
I hid my growing habit, carefully deciding when I could partake and when I should go without. But I also found myself watching, watching his coffee habits, his preferred brands and taking notes for myself. Eventually his presence faded away but many of these stolen habits stayed.
Photo: Pexel’s photo library Photo shows latte art of a flower
It’s day three. I still have not had coffee. My husband, my loving, sweet, honorable husband has had beer.
“We’re in Germany!” So he had beer.
I poked at my half eaten fish and stared daggers through him. I told myself I wouldn’t sleep until I came up with the perfect revenge; until I could wipe that smug look away. He thought he found the perfect out.
He drank while watching the football game.
“It’s tradition! We’re supposed to!”
That was day two of our stupid pact.
Oh, but today is day three. Today is MY day.
And there is nothing my sweet, loving husband hates more than history.
Lucky me, Frankfurt Cathedral offers a three hour tour, chock full of history and led by the most boring priest.
“We have to go! The history! But I think I’ll have some coffee to stay awake.”
I couldn’t resist, this is my calling. The whole reason I started writing has lead to this point. Also, Nine Inch Nails is more Industrial lite, I’m aware. I could link Skinny Puppy or Ministry but I don’t want to scare any of my followers away.
I like the color black.
I wear it frequently.
All my dresses are black,
Except for that one red one.
My shoes too,
Except that pair of brown boots
Or those dark blue ones.
When I was in high school,
I wore black eye make up
But I didn’t hang out with the goth kids.
The real depressed girl
Who actually listened to industrial
And not Marilyn Manson
Was too goth for them.
I like my coffee black,
With just a little bit of cream.
I like my rebels black
With their motorcycle screams.
I like my nails
About nine inches long
And now you have
To start at the beginning of the song.