Confessions of a coffee addict
By Ashley Swanson
When I first had my sip of that black, bitter liquid steaming out of that white mug, I was really little. I was sitting with my grandpa, dad and uncle and was told that if I was going to sit up at the big table with the guys, I had to drink coffee.
Well....fast forward about an hour or two and I distinctly remember taking a sip and deciding it was disgusting as my cup turned cold. I was later excused from the “big table.”
Moving forward, I rarely ever had coffee growing up, and if I did, it was super sweet and was more a latte (lots of sweetner and cool whip) than actual coffee.
However, my brother and I did take turns brewing a pot of coffee for our dad each morning so we could fill his thermos before he headed off to work...I loved the smell of coffee back then, and only the smell.
In college, I fell into the coffee addiction when the only thing to drink in the newsroom was water or black coffee. Of course, we had the occasional creamer in the fridge—at that time I was filling my cup more than half with creamer and the rest with coffee because I still really didn’t enjoy the taste.
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