I work surrounded by coffee. Literally.
Sometimes when I walk out into the kitchen, before I even fully leave the area that is full of tapping and illuminated screens I can smell the coffee. At various points of the day (especially first thing in the morning and mid-afternoon) I can hear the grinder whooshing away at espresso beans and milk being frothed away. It’s comforting. The days I don’t have coffee are weirder than the days that I do.
If you had told me that would be the case four and a half years ago I would have told you that you were lying. The mere thought of coffee was one that I was super against. I hated the smell and the fact that it was either too bitter or had to be mixed through with milk. I hated the smell. Gosh the smell. That and the smell of tea were like my phobias (I am so clearly over exaggerating here).
And now it’s like a blanket. A warm hug. Something safe. Something known.
I left work yesterday having made quite the coffee related mess all afternoon with the smell almost permanently embedded on my hands. Whenever my hand brushed past my face (which is often because I’ve had a breakout on my face and a bad habit….I know, I know) I caught a sniff of it. It wouldn’t leave no matter how many times I washed my hands.
I am also pretty sure that I stained the sleeves of my jumper. And several other articles of clothing over the course of the past two months. Can’t say I hate the smell of coffee following me around though.
You could almost definitely say that I love it.
(For the record I haven’t reached the stage of liking tea yet. Not even close.)
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