My lady is a good lady, but she has one fatal flaw: she doesn't always finish her coffee.
Not infrequently, as I pick up around the house, I find her long-forgotten morning mug with coffee still in the bottom—an inch, sometimes more. For shame. Waste coffee? There are children in Africa having a hard time waking up right now! She says she doesn't want it anymore once it gets cold. I say: cold coffee, where's the problem? And I can't throw it away, so—like a teenager getting drunk on the dregs of his parents' cocktails—I swig it down.
I confess, though, I'm not motivated merely by coffee-frugality. I actually get excited when I find a tiddle in the bottom. (Ooh, there's more!) That doesn't make me in the addict, does it?*
* This morning, I married the remnants of three separate mugs and happily walked out the door with a new almost full Franken-mug. That doesn't make me an addict, does it?