It occurred to me today that I like decaf coffee. For very strange reasons.
It’s not pretentious. It’s not invasive, like regular coffee.
Regular coffee is like that annoying friend that insists on being in your life, not because of enjoyment, but because out of some weird delusion that they think that you need them to survive life. One of those addictive relationships, you know? Regular coffee kind of swaggers around, boasting “Yeah, you know you need me.” And we like the caffeine high, so we kind of put up with regular coffee’s arrogance.
But decaf coffee just kind of smiles up sheepishly at us and says, “I’m here.” Just the sheer enjoyment for coffee, for thing itself, not for the buzz or kick it gives. For taste, for pleasure, for enjoyment. Nothing more.
Decaf is there because we want coffee, not because we addictively need it. Decaf coffee is kind of like tea in that it is the faithful friend that may not keep you frenzied and frenetic and partying until the wee hours of the morning. It’s the homebody friend that doesn’t mind sitting around late at night while you curl up on a couch and read a book. The low-maintenance friend.
So here’s to decaf coffee.