That Whipped Cream ‘Stache

I Defer to Coffee’s Judgement

I love coffee. I am not ashamed. There are few things as satisfying to me as sitting down at work (which, in my case, is an art desk upstairs) and taking that first sip of hot coffee.

Except on hot days. And, let me tell you, the past week has been stupid hot around here.

  • When I put on my slippers to run a load of laundry into the basement, my feet start sweating. My feet. Gross!
  • When I get up from a painting, the skin on the backs of my legs are glued to my wooden stool and sound like a dry squeegee on a damp floor when I peel them off. Why does that sound exist?!
  • I am perpetually covered in this thin sheet of sweat, from head to foot, that makes me think of how people tell pregnant women that they’re glowing when really they’re just sweaty from carrying a little human around for months. Seriously, pregnant ladies, how do you not flip everyone off for saying that?

But at least there is still coffee to cool me down. Not the hot stuff, of course, but cold brew. Oh my caffeinated gourd, I love cold brew! I make it at home using this pot, which arrived with instructions only in Japanese. Fortunately making cold brew is fairly intuitive and I’ve been enjoying it almost daily.

The Pig’s Treat

That’s not to say that Ivan and I don’t like to treat ourselves when we’re out with a little Starbucks (which also happens to make some great cold brew). And if we have the pig dog with us, she has her own request for the coffee shop.

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Whipped cream.

That most amazingly creamy treat that comes in a perfectly snout-sized cup.

Babe can’t get enough.

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And she’s been getting whipped cream from us since… well, since we got her in 2008, I suppose.

Babe is a spoiled little pig, so she gets all of the noms.

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