I don’t care what Merriam-Webster’s defines addiction as, I’m not addicted to coffee. I love it. There are mornings I go without it, and they’re crappy mornings. So I do my best not to go without a really good cup of coffee. I’m not a coffee snob, but if the coffee isn’t good, it doesn’t count. But good coffee is equal parts strength and sexiness, and drinking it makes me feel in touch with my soul. You can’t water that down.
Mostly it’s Starbucks. I love Starbucks. I don’t care that there’s hipper, better, whateverer coffee elsewhere. I love Starbucks, we have a relationship, and that’s the way it’s going to be. K-Cups, Americanos, and the occasional $7.50 drink when I’ve got a free reward coming my way. (Starbucks Rewards are wonderful. I get free drinks just for using fake Starbucks money to buy the normal stuff. What could be better?)
I do have a complaint, though, SB, but it’s not about your cups (awesome) or your political stance that people be treated like human beings (if that’s anti-American, then . . . I’m sorry, I can’t complete that thought, it’s totally American). It’s your lids. Maybe it’s in my head, but it seems as though Starbucks altered the design of their lids ever so slightly so that the indentation is slightly smaller than it used to be, which means it’s slightly smaller than the bottom of the cup, which means it’s slightly impossible to balance one cup on top of the other.
For those of us who don’t always drink coffee alone (we’re in a club, it’s called everyone), this makes my otherwise facile existence slightly difficult. You see, I don’t believe in setting down a cup of coffee to open a door, but if I can’t stack my blazing, potentially crotch-burning coffee on top of an equally fiery cup without fearing I will sear the memory of that dreadful moment into my flesh, well . . . I’ll have to compromise my beliefs and set one of the cups down. On the ground? On the floor? On the top of the car?
And I hate to complain that your sparkling new mobile order function requires me to actually open a door twice, the second time while occasionally holding two or more cups of coffee, but . . . yeah. That happens, which I appreciate the convenience of, but life is always going to be hard. Especially when our cup bottoms and lids don’t get along. It’s even more difficult when I have to consider the possibility that I may have to set. My coffee. On the ground.
At that moment, it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like abandonment. And regret. And a waste of my pretend Starbucks money. So . . . this is awkward. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do at this moment, but I hope we can figure something out. You changed your lids once. You can do it again, right?
Not that I need you to change for me to love you. I do need you to change for me to carry you without spilling you.