Complete the statement “I’d walk a mile for…” and continue to write about it.

A mile is not that far. It’s a mile from my apartment to the nearest store. There are many things for which I would walk 5280 feet. A mile is a piece of cake. It’s one twenty-sixth of a marathon. One third of a 5K. Four laps around our high school track.

At this moment, I would walk a mile for a cup of coffee. There is only one place I like to buy my coffee – 7-11. But that’s about two miles away. I would still walk that far for it. I can’t brew my own coffee for shit. I’ve tried everything – freshly ground high quality beans with bottled water, brewed in a French press. I prefer flavored coffee, especially vanilla. I recently bought myself a Keurig and it rocks so hard. I’m cheap, so I don’t often buy the K-Cups. Instead, I have a reusable pod and I can make a passable cup of joe. My “cup” is actually a 24-ounce stainless steel tumbler. I brew my coffee in the Keurig, add a bunch of cream and a shit ton of Splenda. I’m not quite sure how much Splenda is in a shit ton, but I imagine it’s similar to a kilo of cocaine.

But when I go to 7-11, I get the regular blend that’s just normally brewed in an industrial size coffee maker. As the Queen of Excess, I add four of those little half & half thingamabobs (I have no idea how much is actually in them – half a tablespoon, maybe?) and four thingamabobs of French vanilla creamer. And 8 packets of Splenda. Yes, I know that artificial sweeteners are going to give me cancer and all sorts of other nasty shit but something has to kill me. It may be this North Carolina heat, but until my innards boil, I will enjoy my chemical-laden coffee. Nothing beats that smooth, sweet taste. I long for the days when I can just sit on my porch swing, reading a book and sipping from my Wonder Woman mug as the sun rises to reflect off the dew in the soft, green grass.

If I had a porch. And a swing. And an eastern view. And grass. This is coastal North Carolina. My view consists of some grubby trees and some sand with blades of green that people down here call grass but isn’t really grass. It’s nothing like the lush carpet back home in western New York. And right now, it’s too hot for coffee anyway.

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