Originally, the taste of coffee was perfectly unappealing to me. My best friend's dad owned a little coffee drive-through in town called The King's Cup, which served as a hangout for a lot of friends from church and such. I used to help Rachel when she was working her shift. She taught me how to steam milk and pull espresso shots, but I wouldn't personally drink anything unless it was sugary or overflowing with whipped cream or, preferably, both. We'd blare country music and invent sickly sweet concoctions in between customers. It was a blast.

The King's Cup closed years ago, but at some point since then my aversion to coffee completely disappeared. I think it started with late Saturday nights (I have an unbreakable night owl habit, which is, incidentally, notoriously linked to coffee affection). I wanted to stay awake during Sunday morning services, and there on a card table in the foyer was always big, gurgling pot of the acceptable Christian stimulant, brewed piping hot by my cowboy preacher. And so I'd give in, out of sheer necessity, dumping truckloads of powdered creamer and sugar in my white foam cup to dilute the strong cowboy coffee as much as possible. But gradually, the sweetener got less and before long I started to like the taste of coffee black. The rich, bitter, aromatic depth of it. Mmmm.

Then I went to college and discovered Starbucks. It started innocently enough --a latte now and then. And then a friend introduced me to caramel macchiatos. A whole new world! From then on there was no stopping. Some of us discovered that mistos were yummy and much cheaper than lattes. Frappucinos tasted decadent but were not bad for you. Skinny iced lattes were sweet and cold and lasted awhile, but iced coffee with added syrup and cream was nearly as good and cheaper. Chai tea lattes were rich and spicy with layers of foam. A friend from South Africa introduced me to the wonders of Vanilla Rooibus. Iced caramel macchiatos were wonderful in the summer. And as if that weren't enough, there were options too, so as to further customize and confound. Light ice, extra shots, flavored syrups, half-and-half, non-fat, extra foam, caramel drizzle, whipped cream, no whipped cream, ristretto, de-caf (one option I never employed)...it was madness.

But do I want to quit? Oh no. I'm back home now, and the nearest Starbucks is 20 minutes away. When I first got back, I faithfully brewed Dunkin' Donuts coffee (my favorite) every morning. But I haven't for awhile now. No one else in my family is a "coffee drunkard" (as my little sister once so cutely and appropriately called it --long before my diagnosis). But this is Saturday night, and I am up late. Tomorrow morning, I know Pastor T's pot of that sweet, strong elixir of life will be sitting there on the table, beckoning me in all its caffeinated goodness. And it's a call I will not be able to resist.

You know? I think I'll bring along a travel mug, just for good measure.

Those white foam cups are really much too small.