Dear Pumpkin Spice,
I wanted to like you. Really, I truly did. I know that you might not want to hear that right now, but please hear me out.
When I was mildly disappointed with the first cup, I did not shun you. I tried you again the next day. When that cup, too, left me crestfallen, I was not deterred.
I know what you’re thinking, but don’t you DARE pretend that I didn’t put effort into trying to fix this. I experimented. I changed your steep time. I changed your water temperature. I changed the amount of you that I put in…you. I sat by your bed and read you Harry Potter, and I even held your hair back on that one night we decided to take shots every time those girls on The Hills did something that made us want to lose our faith in humanity. And still, after everything that we’ve been through, things just never felt right.
You were just so bitter. I could never understand it. You looked so good on paper, and I’d be lying if I said your scent wasn’t slightly intoxicating, but being in your company simply wasn’t enjoyable.
I think that the night I knew it was over was when I broke down and tried you with cream and sugar, and I got no pumpkin flavor and could only taste the sugar. With all due respect to your parents, why would they name you Pumpkin when there is no pumpkin to be had? Are you related to the Scented-Bitter-Waters who live up north?
And now, we must part ways. I’m sorry, Spice. Please believe me when I say that I wanted this to work.
P.S. You wouldn’t happen to have any friends who taste a lot better than you do, would you?