Cafe

Cafe because I don’t know how to put the accent mark on the “e.”  I’m computer stupid.

Cafe = coffee

I wasn’t always this way.  My first experience drinking coffee was when I was about 4 years old.  I had eaten something spicy (Korean parents do feed their 4 year-old children spicy food) and was dying for something to satiate my thirst.  My mom told me to grab the “water” that was on the kitchen table.

Back then we had these ugly brown plastic cups that when you looked inside, regardless of whatever liquid was inside, all you would see was blackness.

My poor virgin mouth had never tasted anything so foul.  I was traumatized by my first experience with cafe…and those dreadful brown cups.

But the trauma didn’t last long.  By high school I was drinking the elixir to help me stay awake for late nights while studying for finals.  Hey, at least I wasn’t Jessie Spano high on caffeine pills (“Get your mind to it / Go for it / Get down and break a sweat / Rock and roll you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”).

The addiction began in 2005 at my first full-time job.  Fast-forward 5 years . . . I’d be happy as a peach if I could be that stick figure above.  See that big ass smile plastered on her face?  YES.

More. . . coffee. . .

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