Tall, Grande, Venti

During the past decade, my attitude toward individuals ordering flavored coffee has mellowed. I no longer roll my eyes at the site of syrup bottles lined up behind the espresso bar. I've grown to accept that my order (double espresso) represents a minority preference among those waiting in line. And, when I'm ordering on behalf of others, I've ceased grimmacing at the special requests or fru-fru names. I simply order and move on to observe the barista in action.

Today was an exception. My silent disdain for the candy-ization of coffee got a little volume.

What got me started was a question that I'm sure the woman asking it considered appropriate. How many pumps did I want in that vanilla latte? Seriously? How many pumps?

I delivered my friend's drink. She complained. It was a little too sweet. Really? Maybe I shouldn't have included instructions that with each press on the pump the barista should do the hokey pokey and turn herself about...