The trouble with cappuccinos and drinking them

I never quite know how to drink a cappuccino.  I know, quite a ridiculous problem to have, but I’m afraid it’s true.

There’s something about the enchanting white foam atop the dark coffee below that begs my hand to stay, suggesting somehow that the two charms were never really meant to be muddled together in the first place.

Doing so would seem a tragedy of sorts, much like combining all the colors in a paint set so that in the end, there is no color at all.  Only a hollow, dull shade of grey that looks rather like dead air after some ghastly fire.

How dreadful.

And so I’m sort of left staring at my drink, twiddling my stirrer like some dazed nincompoop, wondering how long it takes lovely white foam to melt into coffee because I still cannot bear to disturb it.

“Quick”, I think, “drink the lovely white foam before it’s altogether consumed by the black mud below!”

Any attempt at drinking it, however, results only in the majority of it ending up on the tip of my nose or some other section of my face that contains neither taste buds nor appreciation for cappuccinos, coffee, or any sort of enchanting white anything.

There is, of course, only one thing left to do at this point.


Stir until all the rich chocolatey brown and white loveliness disappears into one pale dusty shade of dirt brown and the beauty of the contrast is gone.

Oh, it tastes just fine in this aesthetically starved condition I suppose, but my contribution to the ruin of it’s former charm leaves me in a funk.

Sort of like how you feel after watching after watching Garden State. What is it about that movie anyway?

As you might imagine, I tend to avoid drinking cappuccinos whenever possible as a result of this ridiculous behavior of mine, or else ask the barista to stir the thing and put a lid on it before I fall prey to the cappuccino’s enchantment.


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