If it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?
We all know how I love coffee. I obviously have stopped sharing the intimate financial details of my coffee spending- It couldn’t possibly be 2 months since I purchased a cup o’ legal addictive stimulant. I’ve just gotten lazy about it and, honestly, I’ve been spending less.
But there’s an irresistible little coffee shop called Aviano that serves up a latte like you’ve never tasted. Aviano caters to the intelligent, trendy, indie crowd, has interesting art exhibits, and all the baristas have tattoos and/or piercings (i.e. I was born to drink coffee from this place). They make beautiful drinks with a pretty flowery thing from the foam and espresso and I always feel guilty taking the first sip because I ruin it.
Truth be told, I feel guilty setting foot in Aviano at all. The brother of one of Stephen’s friends used to work for this coffee shop and the owner screwed him over. Fired him for no reason, called the cops when the dude came in the get his last paycheck. So we stopped going there (something in me died that day). It’s not been a problem as we’re almost never in that neighborhood, but Aviano is ridiculously convenient for me if I happen to be driving to work rather than riding the train, which I am doing all this week. I think God thinks it’s funny to play with my emotions. It would have been better if I had not tasted this heavenly latte in the first place.
I did something bad today, guys.
Right this very moment… I am drinking a heavenly latte from the forbidden coffee shop… and it is ecstasy. I did it first when Stephen was on his business trip a few weeks ago… I drove to work every day so I could get home a little earlier to play with Moses. Which means I drove past Aviano every day… which means I broke the rules every day. I told him, of course. I’m the worst secret keeper in the world. This just shows how the wiles of a woman can crack a man’s resolve: the other night, Stephen suggested we go to Aviano after dinner. What have I done?