Around the time the other half and I were jaunting
around the Boston area for my aunt’s wedding, Starbucks did their thing and released their usual
fall flavors: pumpkin spice and salted caramel mocha. Many factors, such as its
revolting, distinctly un-vegan ingredients and the fact that the barista/snob in me generally hates the sort of individuals who come in frothing at the
mouth over the flavor, abbreviating it to PSL as if pumpkin spice latte crosses some obscure threshold of tolerance is just too much of a mouthful to actually say, rabidly
snapping celebratory iPhone pics of their decidedly run-of-the-mill beverages fated to be over-sentimentally hashtagged and posted and reposted to the point of exhaustion, have made me refuse to order the ever-popular pumpkin spice. This is pure pigheaded- and meanspiritedness, because I actually love it.
My one choice when abroad, therefore, was to suck down as many salted caramel
mochas as possible before returning home. This left me with such a spoilt,
salted caramel lust that I actually drove to a Starbucks after leaving my job—again,
at a coffee shop—to get one of said
drinks. It was pathetic, and I was in my uniform still and the Starbucks and I kept exchanging knowing but confused looks. So I staged an intervention. For myself.
And yes, I know I'm just the salty cousin of all those pumpkin spice hags.