Sweet, evil caffeine

I love me some coffee. It’s sweet, sweet nectar. Unfortunately, my stomach really doesn’t like coffee all the much.

This is me drinking coffee:

This is my stomach, after I drink coffee:

I don’t know whether it’s the acid, or what, but I can really only drink about 1/2 a cup of coffee before my stomach starts rebelling. I’m usually very mindful of this.
Every once in a while I start thinking “I’m the master of me! I’m going to show coffee AND my stomach who is boss” and I storm into Starbucks,* slam my money on the counter and demand a Trenta** sized coffee, bitch!***

My stomach quickly reminds me that I will ONLY ingest the things it likes, dammit. And I spend the rest of the day curled up in a ball, clutching and it rubbing my stomach, promising I’ll only ingest water and alcohol, as is her preference, and beg for forgiveness.

* I actually prefer to go to Caribou Coffee, but I think that’s a regional thing and I’m trying to be relatable over here so that you’ll keep reading.

** Actually, at Caribou, it’s a “large” AS GOD INTENDED.

*** Ok, I actually don’t say bitch. Or demand anything. Or slam anything down. It’s usually “Hi… If it’s not too much trouble, can I have a large coffee? If you’re busy or something, it’s ok. I’ll just go to the water fountain… Here’s my money? If a credit card is ok? If that’s not too much trouble?”


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