Where is the fine line between being a fan and being an addict?
I always thought that I was just a fan, be it in the simplest form of 3 in 1 with some hot water, or at the mamak, or even the version with all the fancy names... think frapuccino!
Yesterday, I realised (rather horrifiedly!) that I've passed the stage of just being a fan and had graduated to the status of an addict. As to when on earth did this strange occurence take place, I have no idea.
Now, it's been a habit of late (on working days, that is) where I have a cup in the mornings or during lunch break, where I rummage my bag for that red tube of deliciousness that exudes an aroma that fills the air with delight, but to my dismay, I found none!
I rummaged again, but all I found were rectangular packets of cereal... no way, this can't have happened. I'm sure I replenished my supply just last week. Distressed, I opened my desk drawer, hoping against all odds that a stray red tube might be lurking underneath the pencil and pens and business cards. Alas! There was nothing there... just an empty drawer where the business cards looked as though they were secretly laughing at me... "She's addicted... Ha! Ha! Ha!" they whisper amongst themselves. Presuming that I can't hear them.
You can bet that the rest of the day was pretty much miserable... the hours stretched painfully, the sleepy feeling overwhelming as the afternoon turned to early evening. The line has been crossed. There's no turning back... I have made myself into a slave of the beans that mean the world to thousands of others out there. I'm in the 'ín crowd'.
Dear world, welcome a brand new coffee addict!