My Love Affair With Trying To Love Coffee

It is no secret that I love pop. Soda. Soft drinks. Whatever you want to call them, I have a very unhealthy habit of drinking as many as I can afford that day. I know they’re not good for me, I know what they are doing to me, but I can’t get myself to stop. And really not for lack of trying.
I’ve tried weaning myself off, I’ve tried cold turkey. I’ve tried alternatives like sparkling water, infused waters, sports drinks. Anything that could at least break that habit. Nothing works. So I decided to try the only thing I haven’t; coffee.

To know me is to know that I am short, talkative, and I hate coffee. I honestly can’t even take the smell of coffee. But oh, how I wish I could drink it. I’ve dabbled in coffee like drinks; Mixing hot chocolate, and every cappuccino flavor they had in the machine, trying to find a balance I could handle (I never could). I would order a triple chip frappuccino at Starbucks, and wuss out half way through. Of course I would always order extra whip, don’t forget chocolate syrup, and maybe just make it a small…or I guess a tall. See, I don’t even know the Starbucks lingo. I am a fraud. But boy do I try.
I am pretty easily persuadable by popular opinions. If everyone likes coffee, I too, should probably like coffee. That many people being that obsessed with something seemingly so simple, I have to be missing something. I have to say, the idea, the imagery, it all gets me. I want to be that person with the cup of coffee in their hand. The person with “I love coffee” pictures all over my house. I want to wake up excited like coffee lovers. I want to, essentially, join the coffee cult and be a slave to the bean.

But I am not. Last night I decided this morning would be the morning. This was the one I was going to wake up excited to go down into town, and get some coffee. I even tried to make it more enticing by promising myself a doughnut to go with it. I even put my cute little latte charm on my traveler’s notebook, sure I was going to be a coffee lover by tomorrow afternoon. I got up and tried to tell myself how good I’d feel after getting some coffee in me to get myself psyched up. Everyone talks about such magical effects of this hot bean water, I needed to figure it out for myself. “I’ll want to do cartwheels” I told myself. It had to be that good. It seemed that good for everyone else.
I got dressed, put my shoes on, and headed out the door. I walk to town every morning, and make the same stops. Only this time, I added the bakery to my list. My husband said they had “good coffee”, and I wanted good coffee. Not that I knew at all what the difference between “good” coffee and “not good” coffee was. As far as I could tell, there was never really a “bad” coffee, and even bad coffee was still coffee and therefore good enough to drink. He also told me that the first one is always the worst, but it’d grow on me after I kept sipping.
He was so, so wrong.

I got to the bakery, ordered my doughnut, a lemon cookie for my very wrong husband, and The Coffee. In a large. My initial thought was that I wouldn’t love it at first, but I would like it enough that I could sip on it throughout the day, and magically by the 30th sip I would be hooked. I may even have to go out to get another one.
I too, was so, so wrong.

I tasted it fresh and black. Coffee always tasted similar to burnt meat to me, and not a good burnt meat. I added half and half and tasted again. I think I added too much, but I wasn’t about to sip it after every drip, I felt strange enough. I added sugar and stirred it. I felt completely out of place, and like everyone else there knew this had to be my first real cup of coffee. Ever.
I skirted out quick, back to my destination, plopped the coffee and doughnut down on the counter. I took a sip. Actual disgust ran through my body. Maybe it’s better with the doughnut. I took a bite, washed the last of it down with coffee. Not so bad. Of course my mouth was coated in an actual glaze, so I’m not sure i tasted it. “I can so do this” I thought. I took another sip, and I set up my space to get ready for the day. I was so ready to get back to my cup of coffee and forcing myself to enjoy it.
I came back around, and then it happened. I got a whiff of the, what smelled like to me, burnt meat sludge. “Please no. I want so bad to love you. Please let me love you”, I took a sip. My face scrunched up like my mom just force fed me cough syrup (I reallyhate cough syrup). Determined, I took a bite of doughnut, swallowed, and sipped the coffee again. I shuddered so hard I slapped the counter. “This can’t be happening” I thought.
I wanted to at least be able to try. I had these dreams of sipping my delicious, luxurious coffee all day. I thought about sipping it with lunch, and forgetting it existed, and coming back to it later and drinking it cold. I imagined myself going to a different coffee place every morning, because what my town lacks in actual things to do, it makes up for in coffee shops. I thought maybe on Mondays I’d get a doughnut, and on Fridays I’d have a bagel, maybe a scone. People eat scones with their coffee, right? It didn’t matter. I had dreams that I would do it all, me and coffee, best of friends. I’d buy mugs, and cozies, maybe even my own special bag of grounds. My husband and I could go out to the garden and drink our coffees and look at the plants. I thought about winter, and all the snowy walks we’d take, and warm up with a nice hot cup of joe. It all seemed so within reach. That perfect java life.

It didn’t happen. The smell started to turn my stomach. All my dreams vanished into a puff of coffee colored smoke. I tried to try one more sip, and before it even hit my lips, my face twisted up. It was over. At this point, it didn’t sound appealing or refreshing. It didn’t sound appetizing in the least, and I was starting to feel actually sick from the smell. I dumped it out. There it goes. All my hopes and coffee dreams, gone. I grabbed my money and ran across the street. I grabbed two cans of cola. Came back and cracked one open. Maybe tomorrow I can try tea.