To the Red Cup

Some of you may know about my obsession with the Starbucks red cup.  I love it.   Around the first couple days of November when they begin to roll out, I exchange a series of texts/emails with various friends about the first red cup sighting, the first red cup purchase, etc.  Usually it involves my outward condemnation of the way-too-early arrival of the red cup, while secretly I run out to get one and bask in its crimson beauty.  In my opinion, this season is way too short, so why not enjoy it as long as possible?
I confess that I am a total sucker for holiday marketing . . . if you put a snowflake, Christmas tree, or candy cane stripe on it, I will buy it (or wish that I had).  I know better, but I just can't help it.  There, now you know my little secret.  So, inevitably, every year my once-weekly Starbucks stop steps up a couple of notches during red cup season.
Anyway, I used to hate Starbucks for the chain that they are and would avoid them at all costs. . . but after 7 years in a town where the choice is either this or Dunkin Donuts, it was an easy choice.  When I lived in Munich, I would go to the one there whenever I needed a little taste of home. . . or a red cup . . . or a couch.  However, Wolfenbüttel is too small to be touched by the Starbucks empire (thankfully, there are still such places).    SO, needless to say that when we were in Berlin and stumbled upon one after a very sleepless night (No, not because of our newborn. She slept through the night. It was Elsa this time), I nearly wept.  It was everything I needed in a coffee.  It was big.  It was strong.  It was in a red cup. 

(And the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack was playing in the background).