I’ve recently started drinking coffee for the first time in my life. Yes, that’s right, I’m 30 years old and I just started drinking coffee.
At first I didn’t think I’d like it, but now every time I’m even remotely tired, I find myself thinking about it. Which is great news to my fiancee Ari, because she is my pusher. It’s true – the love of my life is also trying to inject me with coffee at every waking moment, like a drug dealer to a junkie.
Before I started drinking coffee, Ari would always be there to offer me “just a little taste.”
I’d stroll into the living room after waking up, and there she’d be, grinning slightly, leaning up against the couch: “You look like you’re dragging buddy. How about a little pick me up?”
Of course I’d refuse, because I didn’t want any part of this coffee world. I wasn’t like the rest of them. I was strong.
But like any good pusher, Ari was persistent.
There she was, sipping a warm cup of joe, saying, “Mmm…boy, this makes you feel all right all of the time.”
And when she finally got me to cave one day, when I was so tired I could barely watch Sportscenter (!!!), you should have seen her strut over to that coffee machine. I told her, like any feen, that I’d just try one cup and one cup only. But she knew. She glanced over her shoulder as she poured the coffee, nodded and said, “Sure. Whatever you say.”
All it took was that first cup.
Since then Ari has been ready to get me my fix at any moment. It’s clearly her proudest moment since we started dating. She finally got me hooked on the dope she’s been pumping since I first asked her out.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get a cup. What can I say? I need it man.