So I counted the other day. And discovered that there are seven - yes SEVEN- Starbucks within a five mile radius of our house here in prime suburbia in Houston. Okay, not all of them are free standing. There's the one in Barnes and Noble. And one's in Kroger's. But seven? I kept re-counting (in that crazy anal OCDish way that is a trademark of my father's side of the family...my father who once wrote the people at Britannica that they'd made a mistake on something fairly big and they sent him a free set of encyclopedias back there in the dark ages of my childhood when everyone really cared- at least in my family- if info was accurate and didn't just take Wikipedia's word for it, but whatever) and still came up with seven.
And you know, I 've been to them all. Seriously. Me. Who didn't even like coffee for years and years. Thought it tasted like dishwater or something. Preferred tea. Or water or soda or juice or anything that wasn't coffee.
So was it that first flirty little frapaccino? The froth on the lattes? The cheap little cafe au laits? The iced cafe con leche? The cups with those sleeves? Some secret chemical that makes me yearn for those cute little packets of raw sugar and the possibilities of soy milk even if soy milk so doesn't taste like milk and so absolutely would be something I wouldn't drink even in the desert island scenario.
But even so. Seven? Seven?
Til next time.