Okay, I like coffee. A lot. I like it black with just one spoonful of sugar. As Mary Poppins sang, “Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, in the most delightful way!” But that’s not the only way I like it. I like it with those little creamers that are supposed to mimic Vanilla Cream and Amaretto and Irish Cream and whatever. I like coffee. I really do.
I liked the coffee in Brazil and I liked the coffee in Portugal. I liked the little bitty coffee that they served in the shot-glass looking thing and called it cafezihno. I thought that it was too tiny to be of any use, but when that concoction hit my lips…it was zihno, baby. I felt like Popeye popping his first can of spinach. I was ready dar luta com o diabo.
Alas, I believe that I am now addicted. Usually, I could go without coffee for extended periods with no physical symptoms. It was as if I were impervious to its side effects. But this weekend I went without coffee, and I got a headache. A serious headache. I never get headaches. I took a Tylenol and got better, but down deep I knew what was wrong. It was the call of coffee. I had not had my fix of the sweet bitter black, and I was suffering for it.
Is it sin to be so horribly hooked on coffee? Should I tear myself away from this love of the drink? If I do, it shall certainly hurt both heart and head.
We Must Do the Impossible
4 years ago