Dear pumpkin spice latte,

You are my favorite. No, really. You are. At least until December rolls around, with its gingerbread latte and its peppermint hot chocolate. (And… isn’t there another one at Christmastime? A mocha, maybe? No? I’m not sure.)

Oh, pumpkin spice latte, at least for these fleeting fall weeks, you are my favorite. You are warm and spicy, though in all honesty not especially pumpkinny. You are tall and caffeinated, and I do not have to brew you myself. Thus do you have my undying affection.

However, I’d like to bring something up. Apparently the nightmares I had the other night? All night long, one after another—the ones I would wake up from, shaking and sweating and gasping for air? Yeah. Drinking the last few swallows of latte at eleven of the p.m. may possibly have had something to do with that little reign of (night) terror. I don’t want to use the word “fault,” but let’s just say it looks like you may have been the cause of that.

Some people would walk away. Give you up. But I have forgiveness in my heart, and I am willing to give you another chance. I just can’t see you after, say, nine o’clock at night anymore. I hope you understand.

Yours,
Melissa