As I walked out of Target, my cart full of various home decor and dollar spot finds, I stopped dead in my tracks. I took a deep breath. As I inhaled the cooler, crisper air, it hit me. Fall had come. As any good basic knows from the manual you get at orientation, the number one rule of being basic is that you must love fall.
And basic I am. I don’t make any major decisions without consulting a Pinterest board first. I might actually pass away if I lost my planner. 90% of my body is Diet Coke or sugar-free Red Bull. I am basic, basic is me. So all of my heart and soul rejoices at the first signs of fall. Cardigans. Jumping in leaves. Halloween. ‘Tis my shit. It makes up the essence of what I am.
But with all of the joy fall brings to my life, it also brings a little bit of sorrow. And that sorrow is the Starbucks pumpkin spice latte.
Why does this fall holy grail bring me such sorrow? Well, because, I cannot stand it. It just doesn’t taste good. I’d even argue to call it disgusting. And I can’t figure out why my palate would disrespect me like this. It just doesn’t make sense. Everything about me screams “loves PSL.” I should be drinking these like water. I should need them like an athlete needs Gatorade. So what is it? I have no problem with the pumpkin itself. Pumpkin pie? Hell to the yeah. And I have no problem with Starbucks. I willingly cough up my $4 for a cinnamon dolce latte when I could simply make a free cup from my Keurig at home. So maybe it’s the spice that doesn’t sit well with my taste buds.
So each year I give it another chance. I wake up, and throw on my uniform: leggings, a flannel, and brown leather boots. I grab my faux fur ball keychain off the counter, and drive to my mothership. I look inside at all the happy, smiling faces enjoying their PSLs. I approach the counter and tell the barista my order, “I’ll have a grande *gulp* pumpkin spice late.” But just like the year before and the one before that, I’m…disgusted.
Is this a sign? Is it time for a change in my aesthetic? Does being basic not run in my veins as deep as I thought it did? Maybe I don’t come from a long line of basics after all. And I’ve tried pretending to like it, oh have I tried. But I’m tired of pretending! I can’t be the only one. .
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