My Black Cup

This post is for a pal who's broadening her horizon of coffee-makers. No sarcasm- I appreciate her courage to try new tastes... and accept them. Guess she'll be the only one to understand what I mean.
:)

Someone wanted to make me a cuppa coffee that morning.
I refused the offer.
They insisted.
I said- "Okay."
The coffee was milky... unlike the way I like it.
It came in one of their white cups.
Not in my Black one.
I did not like it.
Yet I took it.
It did not go down well.

The following morning came the same offer.
Again I refused.
They insisted.
I stood my ground.
We argued.
I gave in and warned them about the milk.
The coffee was sweet... unlike the way I like it.
It came in a white cup again, not in my Black.
I did not like it.
Yet I sipped at it.
It failed to go down well.

The third morning I was woken up again.
I was forced to have coffee being made for me.
In a white cup, not in my Black.
It was bitter.
Not the way I love it.
I threw it down the drain.

The fourth dawn I lay awake.
The sun rose.
I went and made my own coffee.
I chose my Black cup.
Not one of their white ones...
Just the right amount of milk and water.
Just the right amount of sugar.
Just the right amount of coffee beans.
Just the right aroma reviving my senses.

I made them take it.
They did not like it.
It did not go down well with them.
But it did go down well with me.

Because it was the way I love it.
Because that's the way my taste-buds love it.
It was the way I live.
Not the way they live.

Life is a cuppa coffee.
Make it the way you like it.

Or just live with the way they make it.
:)