i never know if i’m going to offend someone when i say this.
say i’m at your house and you offer me a cup of coffee. i love coffee, so i take it gladly. but then. then there’s this.
“do you have any…sugar?”
how’s this going to go?
what will you think of me now?
not sugar in the raw. not stevia. i’m hoping for refined, white sugar. and not even that much. just like half a teaspoon.
actually, you know what. this is fine. i can drink it like this. no, really.
it’s too late. i saw the hesitation. now you’re rifling through your cupboards, throwing out bags of dried fruit and fruit leathers and whole grain pastas. and yes. there it is.
it’s a sad, rolled up bag. a forgotten sack of neglected sugar. it cracks as i unroll it and what’s this feeling? ah yes, it’s shame.
i ask for a spoon and you can’t really look at me. you point at a drawer with your eyes averted.
i scrape some granules up and stir it in to black, black coffee, thankful that sugar doesn’t go bad. i roll it back up and hand it to you. you’re talking about something else now and you put it back in the way back of the cupboard. you head into the living room where we can talk. talk about real things, better things.
but i don’t follow you. i haven’t even broached the topic of cream…