Her senses bewitched by the intoxicating memory of peppermint-flavored syrup, local woman Kate Nothern saved herself from the bitterest of agonies Friday morning when, regaining control of her faculties in the nick of time, she stopped herself from imagining the taste of a peppermint mocha on her tongue. Have patience, my love, lest your mind be tormented by a phantom ambrosia of yuletide spices and caffeine, the monk-like woman told herself, banishing all thoughts of steamed milk and sweetened cream until the precious elixir would come to Starbucks next week. Were I to taste but a drop of peppermint and espresso, surely my mind would waste in torment for want of sweet minted delights. The time is nigh, but alas, not yet shall I allow my tongue to seek out the sensual pleasures of winter. At press time, Nothern had reportedly caused herself further pain by remembering that the entrancing blend of earthly delights would be four fucking dollars. 