Espresso

When I used to think of espresso I'd think of Paris. Sidewalk cafes, people watching, haughty waiters, well dressed Parisians and all manner of lap dogs with their glittery collars lying under those mini wrought iron tables as their owners indulged in a patisserie or two which was duly washed down with a bonafide espresso. That was before I entered the hallowed halls of seniority. Now at 60 if the espresso ever crosses my mind it is accompanied by that newly important question; is it decaf? I know that my pure espresso days are over and I am hard pressed to believe that any imitation via a decrease in caffeine, can ever be the perfect accompaniment to a warm afternoon spent in an outdoor cafe. I do not think I could manage to order an espresso decaf without incurring the disdain of my server. He and I would both know in our hearts that I was nothing more than an imposter cafe drinker!