It was Thanksgiving break. Per usual, I found myself sitting in my doctor’s office. I stared blankly at my childhood doctor, absorbing the terrifying information that she was presenting me. My helicopter mother sat next to me, her face a combination of mild shock and the classic “I-told-you-this-would-happen” look that only a mom can perfect.
Now, you all probably think you know where this story is going for a gorgeous (thank you!) young college girl like myself. This was probably an STD, a pregnancy, or perhaps a really bad case of some fungal infection contracted in the basement of a frat house. All notable, and, yes, plausible ailments, but alas, my visit to the doctor that day was not the result of last weekend’s mistake.
Several months earlier, I’d gotten mono. The kissing disease I’d dodged all throughout high school had finally caught up with me, but determined not to let it soil my GPA or my social life, I did the only thing a rational white girl could do: I marched out of the health center, and dragged myself to the campus Starbucks to sip on the elixir of life. And that was the beginning of the end.
Hair frazzled, eyes wild, I walked straight up to my school’s resident barista, screamed “pumpkinspicelattenowhipnonfatthanks” and proceeded to throw my credit card into his bewildered and terrified face. Emotions high from my diagnosis, crazed from my fatigue, and anxious from the pile of work waiting for me at my dorm, I snatched my trusty PSL and practically shotgunned that bitch.
The results were immediate. The coffee gods breathed sugary, caffeinated, artificial life back into me. I was positively radiant, with the glow of a new mother. A mother of an overpriced, basic, sort-of-horrendous-but-also-beautiful pumpkin spiced child. The cycle of my PSL craze, followed by countless cups of Keurig coffee (#studentloans) continued religiously for the next two months. Every. Damn. Day. Healthy? Hell no. Needed? Yes. I credit my successful completion of my first semester to pumpkin spice lattes, and pumpkin spice lattes alone.
So there I sat, in the doctor’s office. I had developed a sharp pain in my abdomen that would not go away. Perhaps my liver had finally sought revenge for the gallons of Natty it had endured? My doctor stared at me and uttered those unforgettable words: “You have a stomach ulcer.”
My eyes narrowed in skepticism. I was not a middle aged man working a high stress job and eating low quality Mexican food each night. And then it dawned on me. My mom and I looked at each other, both knowing realizing the cause of my angry stomach. Caffeine and ungodly amounts of Splenda had finally gotten the best of me.
So please, for the love of basic bitches, learn from my story. Next time you need to stay awake and wired, don’t jeopardize your health. Just use Adderall instead..
This featured image is stock photo from our database. The woman photographed is not the woman in the story.