I Can't. I'm Sorry. (Don't Hate Me?)

So, I have tried once more to give a chance to that ever popular, vastly consumed, recently chic (supposed) brew of the gods commonly known as coffee. Yes, I tried again, for the Nth time. Why? Because I am convinced that I'm a weirdo for not liking what the rest of the planet idolizes and practically lives on. And so, I decided to give it a try. Again. Coffee has to be good, right? Everyone likes it! Wrong. I went to Starbuck's, the birthplace of the so-called culture of coffee, and had a special Christmas edition Gingerbread whatchamacallit double grande latte with whipped cream sprinkles and a cherry on top. Yes, I went all out and had the whole "sha-bang!". No skim milk baby, this was real thing. I was feeling extra-festive that day. The results? I almost threw up right in the middle of the Black Friday extra super crowded busy mall. I'm sorry coffee and Starbuck's lovers, but the thing tasted like sewer water with whipped cream. Bad. Very bad shit. And so my friends, that day, right then and there, after learning how to control my gag reflex in an unsuspecting and subtle way, I finally gave up on coffee for good. That's it. Finito. I have accepted the fact that the thing is not for me and have realized that the reason why so many people walk around with their Starbuck's coffee in-hand so much is because they are carefully delaying every sip of their lethal, calorie loaded, hot sewer water concoctions. I tried, but I can't. I'm sorry. Don't hate me.