Do you remember how you felt when you heard about the flesh eating disease for the first time? Like, “Ew, no way. That happens to people? That could happen to me?”
That’s how I felt last night. My friend Jennifer called me up from San Fran and in the midst of our conversation about the link to the Paris Hilton crotch shots that she’d emailed me and a documentary about two-headed twins, she casually mentioned that she’s lost her desire for coffee. Even in the morning, she just hasn’t been into it.
What?! That happens to people, just out of the blue? Could that happen to me?
Jennifer is a girl who’s always been able to appreciate a great cup of coffee. She taught me the beauty of the atop-the-cup single serving cone filter brewing method (she even travels with her own, so as to always be preparred). I like my coffee strong, but Jennifer will use the amount of grounds from which I feel comfortable brewing two cups for just one single cup, and not a drop more.
For this to happen to Jennifer really scares me. I hope it doesn’t happen to me.
