Yesterday morning, as I was trying to prepare myself for a day of work at an adult psych ward, I decided coffee was definitely in order.
I live in a neighborhood that has a coffee shop, sometimes several, on every block.
There is also a Starbucks a half-block away. There are actually 5 Starbucks within a 6 block radius.
I dislike Starbucks. I dislike that they are so corporate and seemingly omnipresent...and I dislike their coffee. I don’t buy this "that burnt taste is our signature flavor" bit. It’s just bad coffee.
I know this.
But every couple of months or so, I stop in and buy a cup. I suppose I’m always hoping that this cup will somehow be different, that if I approach it with a new, positive outlook it will somehow taste better, sweeter.
Yesterday was one of those days.
As I took my steaming cup o’ joe away from the counter, I paused and wondered why I even bothered. I knew it was going to be bad, a waste of money and a waste of time. It suddenly occurred to me that I am similarly stubborn in other areas of my life, namely where men are concerned.
I took that first sip.
It was, indeed, a bitter cup.