I have met the waffling, indecisive and insecure woman. And that woman is me, a sugar addict, ordering an afternoon latte.

Even as the words "tall vanilla latte" spill out of my mouth to the smiling face behind the counter, I'm on the verge of changing the order. I crave that sweet vanilla in my coffee, and yet I am also petrified by the journey those added calories make straight down south to the hips and thighs. They don't even make a detour. I know; I once overheard them arguing about who will get there first.

When I was a college student, ordering a cup of coffee meant nothing more than just that. In the absence of the fancier twists available today, a typical order at a no-frills coffee shop in Japan then was "the American" — a watery espresso. To that, I would add lots of milk to achieve that creamy, beige look and heap on about 10 grams of white, refined sugar. It was disgustingly sweet, like liquid candy, and I loved it. It went so well with the Mild Sevens and the Caster Lights I used to smoke at Denny's.

Read more at cannedcoffee.com