Much Ado about NOTHING

The office where I work has one of those Keurig coffee machines, the kind you insert a little plastic thimble (a "K-cup") full of gourmet bean mulch into and then let dribble some steamy brew into your mug. There are several different types of java on offer, including "regular", "bold" and speed "extra bold", many with amusing names on the cup labels: Jet Fuel, Wake-Up Call, Donut Shop (my favorite), and (yikes) Black Tiger.

I plan my day around these monikers. When I get in around 9:00, I drink some Wake-Up Call, which boots up my cerebral cortex enough to bird-dog the improper use of past participles and semi-colons. (I'm an copy editor.) A little later, when my mood tends to sag, I'll have some Donut Shop, which goes down smooth and makes me a bit giddy with the keyboard. Mid-day calls for Jet Fuel, to keep me churning through the post-lunch slump. And then, just about any time is the right time for a jolt of Black Tiger, an XXX-bold pick-me-up that gets me to 5:00 (or 6 or 7?) with it's Ninja-inspired label and appellation that sounds a little like a street name for heroin. Caffeine is a drug, you know.