Sunday, August 16, 2009

The beginning of addiction

I am a certified crack-addict level coffee drinker. If I don’t drink it in the mornings, woe be the poor souls who cross my path. I get the taste for it from my Dad, who has been a coffee drinker since I can remember. I didn’t drink it for a long time, but some time around college, I tried it out and found the mix that works for me (I’m a creamer girl—a little Splenda and a whole bucket load of creamer) and have been happily addicted ever since.

As such, I’ve never really offered Harrison any coffee because, well, it’s coffee. The last thing I want is a wired up five-year-old, bouncing off the walls and experiencing the shakes. My Dad, on the other hand, has no such compunctions. He has offered it to Harrison a few times, always with the promise that it would “put hair on his chest.” This is the same thing he told me as a kid, so that’s pretty standard. He also makes that claim regarding hot sauce, jalapenos and beer. (Mind you, he doesn’t offer my kid jalapenos or beer—it’s just part of his repertoire.)

Anyhoo, I’m talking to Harrison a few weeks ago and he mentions that when he was at Papa and Nana’s house last time, Papa offered him some coffee.

“He said it would put hairs on my belly, but I dranked it and there’s no hairs.”

Fortunately, I was next to the sink, so I could spew my coffee into it as I laughed.

I offered him a few sips of coffee this morning, and after a very cautious tasting from the spoon, he decided it was up to his standards. He told me, though, that he was very disappointed that no hairs sprang up—he is now down three belly hairs.

I figure, genetics-wise, he’s not got a lot to worry about if that’s what he’s hoping for. ;)

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