I miss my Java. Okay, I admit it, on special occasions, like yesterday, Easter morning, I treat myself to a cup. The days of my morning potfulls are gone. A year or so ago, I went cold turkey off the bean. You know, it wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought. I braced for all kinds of nasty withdrawal symptoms; headaches, dragging around in a zombie-like state. But, no, I sailed into tea drinking seas quite smoothly, I'm proud to say, and I'm sleeping again, like a baby.
Don't get me wrong. Tea can't even be compared to The Cuppo. I would refer to it as "cuppa", but that would be considered female, wouldn't it? Coffee is definitely masculine in my book, full of brawn and gusto. Maybe I should call it "Javo", as well? Tea, on the other hand, is delicately feminine. I like tea, but it isn't a qualified replacement for coffee. I realize how much I miss coffee, after I have a cup. That rich, dark, glorious jolt sends me to the stars, or actually, to be more specific, it sends me to Bullwinkle.
Since I rarely drink it, the grand fix of caffeine makes me jazzed. The theme song from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show (that would be "Bullvinkle" to Boris and Natasha) spins fast in my head. So, while I'm in temporary heaven, with the aroma and flavor, the jolt makes me fly like a supersonic squirrel. Not to worry. I visit Bullwinkle J. Moose and his friends, in Moosylvania, where it's good to the last drop, only occasionally, like on Ground Hog's Day and Easter.