It's a whole new can of worms now - neglect pounding a Richter Scale 6 against my skull - as clock oozes another hour.  Another hour without caffeine.  It's official.  I am an addict.

He swore to me that he'd convert me.  I would have no part of it.  Coffee tasted like earwax.  I was not interested.  My morning drink of choice was the reheated, day-old stale tea leftover from dinner the night before, poured into the plastic grey Pro-Life travel mug (because I liked a little propaganda along with my school books) for the quick dash to the bus.  Disgusting, yes.  But you know what they say...truth is stranger than fiction.

I don't know how it happened.  Probably in the stealing of sips from the car cup holder in hopes of entertaining him through what can only be described as my adorable ew, that's so yucky face.  It grew on me - adopted as a compliment to him.  Even his eccentric method of ordering: "Double-Double-Double-Cupped!" and it might be silly but really, it's just so fun to say - especially when they repeat it back to you - a happy morning moment!

So this bodes the question: what has he adopted of mine?  After fifteen years together you'd think there'd be something, right?

....

I got nothing.

Except the toilet seat.  He always puts that down.  But that's not really from me, is it?  I mean, I never put it up so how could he get that from me?

This probably means that instead of adopting traits we're just going to start looking like each other.  Another few years and I'll have a real good moustache and he'll paint his toenails pink.  Now, if that's not true love...

For now I'll just hang out here, writing, drinking the coffee that's finally ready, the coffee that he got me hooked on, obsessively checking my chin for whiskers and waiting for the A&E Intervention team to show up at my front door to trick me into thinking they're doing a documentary about addiction.