I don’t know what it is about my obsession with coffee that seems to be contagious, but someone should stick me in a lab, test me, isolate the pheromones and try to pump that shit through shopping centres, uni campuses and high streets alike.
I’d make a mint.
Not for the first time, within weeks of knowing me, I’ve got someone dabbling in java.
Having only had coffee once before in Vietnam (poor bean was spoiled for his first taste) Lewis was staring longingly at my cup of joe, twitching as he looked back in to the cafe and then to my coffee again.
We’d still got an hour or so until afternoon lessons started and I was treating myself to some of the ‘real’ stuff.
B: “Jesus Christ, will you just get something? What do you want? Just get something, you’re being twitchy.”
L: “I don’t know though, I don’t drink coffee, do you think they have condensed milk? I bet they don’t, what should I try? I don’t know why, but I just feel like a coffee.”
B: “You’re not a huge fan of coffee, yet, hey? Go with something light, try a latte with sugar.”
I smiled to myself as I recalled a nearly identical conversation with my soul sister Lyds 3 years ago in Melbourne.
Lew took a tentative sip.
“How is it?”
His face creased into his lopsided grin as he admitted, “It’s actually really good.”
“Just you wait until you’re on the hard stuff.” I replied, swilling the dregs of my straight long black.
“What have you done to me? 3 weeks after knowing you and I’m already in to caffeine, I bet Zac drinks it as much as you do.”
I nearly choked on my sip, laughing.
The last person you’d find swigging the black nectar is Zac.
Traumatised from a young age by a mistaken case of milo, he’d shovelled a huge spoon in to his mouth and hasn’t touched the stuff since.
It’s only in recent months he’s even been able to stomach kissing me after I’ve had a coffee, and if I’m unsure if I’ve been stiffed my caffeine hit in a mocha, Zac has a sniff of my cup.
When he gags, I know I’m good.
Love’s a beautiful thing, eh?
The sad truth is, I just can’t get going without that morning cup of coffee, and having to substitute the bean to cup machine (courtesy of Mama and Papa K) to a pod machine (courtesy of Mama G) to instant (courtesy of my financial situation), I’ve been hankering for the ‘good stuff’.
Zac bought me a travel cup before I left saying: “I drink coffee for your protection” and Mama G has even been teasing me about not talking to me unless have had my morning ‘cuppa’.
Every sip of crappy coffee is taken with a hint of resentment and a slow burning determination to save up for the best gosh darn bean to cup coffee machine on the market as a welcome home present from me, to me.
Until then, I’ve got Crave on my doorstep when I cave and give in to the power of the java.