Pray for me, Gregor Samsa

In the spirit of Oprah's recent, dare I say, groundbreaking (no pun intended) new year's revelation regarding falling off the weight control wagon, I hereby declare, people, that I'm off decaf.

I know, I know. This blog is appearing more and more to be merely a tragic vehicle for social alienation.

It all began with my request this Christmas for a French coffee press. For years, I've been making my decaf espresso via a countertop Krups machine that no longer froths milk (despite quarterly, invasive prodding with a bent paper clip). Recently the seal began leaking as well, belching steam out the top instead of through the grounds. It was time to say farewell.

Like the dutiful, clever husband that he is, the Bugglehubs colluded with Santa: boxing up an eight cup press and filling my stocking with flavored coffee. Caffeinated coffee. Peppermint, truffle, pumpkin spice. I had to try it - just this once. After the unwrapping chaos died down, as the kids were nestled in their beds for a (hopefully) long winter's nap, I brewed my first pumpkin spice latte, mixing a bit of egg nog into my one percent milk.

I thought I'd died and gone to Starbuck's.

I've had one every day since, metamorphosing in mere days from a jittery, uber-productive mess into an outright, headache-prone addict. I'm hoping the eggnog runs out before I wake one morning to find myself an upturned, twitching cockroach.