Every year on my birthday, Starbucks sends me a coupon for a free drink. “Any drink,” it says, which is quite liberal given how much is on the Starbucks menu. Every year, I go on my birthday and buy something which I immediately regret.

This year, I walked up to the counter and proudly presented my coupon. Before I finished, the man in front of me threw down five bucks on a single drink. I hesitated, even though my drink would be free. But the chipper barista announced loudly that she was bored and desired to make an awesome drink. She had bright red glasses and was pretty and young and blonde and called everyone “babe.” As in, “what’s your name, babe?” or “do you want caramel sauce on top of the whip cream on top of your frappucino, babe?” I was happy to oblige.

I like caramel. I ordered something with ice, presumably with a coffee base, but then tacked on fifty cents to add something called “coffee” to my coffee, then added on fifty cents to make it with soy milk. I added a shot of something– I don’t know what. I don’t know if the whipped cream or caramel sauce or the preposterous size added more, but in sum my drink tallied almost seven dollars, or about seven McChicken sandwiches and over 500 calories.

Every year I regret the whole affair, and every year I do it again.