Tuesday – Sweet and Creamy

Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about how wimpy I am compared to my parents. I think of this every time I pour myself a cup of coffee. The coffee I drink is a sweet khaki-colored beverage in a cup holding enough cream to fatten up the Olsen twins and give them Marilyn Monroe-type curves. When I was growing up, I thought I hated coffee because I assumed that all coffee everywhere tasted like the coffee my parents drank: an unsweetened black brew that kicked you in the teeth and dragged you into wakefulness screaming and crying. They didn't use sugar. They didn't use cream (or even milk). They were children of the Great Depression, and expected their morning coffee to remind them of what the world was really like – bitter and dark, yet invigorating enough that they could say that they enjoyed every drop of it and couldn't wait for a second cup.

( What does your java brew say about you? )