Mr. Coffee died the other day. Not the spokesman for the machine, but our personal kitchen unit. And close personal friend.
It was a sad day. Services were held strictly among the family. Starbucks gift cards will be accepted in lieu of flowers.
Although he was faithful and lived a good life, it was rather sudden. And selfishly speaking, on a rather inconvenient day I might add.
Staying up late, gone all day and then up early the next morning led to a desperate dependency on my trusted friend.
It was Oh Dark Thirty, and I was not nice. I was tired. But I was up and I just wanted coffee. What could be so hard about that?
To my credit, with my limited brain cells, I even managed to remember to put in both the coffee grounds and the water. And in the right compartment.
Then I pressed the button. Nothing.
The lights were on but clearly Mr. Coffee was not home. Occasionally a “tut tut” came out. Is he mocking me I wondered? Like, tut tut, you poor dependent soul, you will be sorely sorry today.
I tapped the side. Gently at first. Somehow I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, just in case he too was just waking up. Pray tell, what does a coffee pot use to wake up?
Then harder tapping led to shaking. I no longer feared Shaken Coffepot Syndrome. I reverted to name calling, Just work, you blasted piece of junk!
I realized my mean heart and apologized quickly. I felt a little like Linus doubting the appearance of the Great Pumpkin. Looking around at the empty kitchen, I still wondered if anyone else heard me.
When that didn’t work, I may have begged. A little. Okay, I did. Please? Only it came out a little more like, Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease!
By now I had spent way more time than I usually do with my little friend, and decided it was time for Mission Coffee Desperation. Pouring hot water through the filter of coffee I held in my hands produced a sufficient amount of caffeine for the morning. I was happy, and not even burned.
However, the thought crossed my mind as to just how willing I was to do this every morning. But that thought was for some other time, because that morning I had coffee and I was heading out the door. I simply stuck a post it note that read, “DEAD” on the pot and left the house.
When I arrived home, I was met with a wonderful surprise. Mr. Coffee’s big brother. New, shiny and so many buttons, my fickle feelings had now changed loyalties. In my eyes, old Mr. Coffee was the wannabe player relegated to waterboy, but THIS Mr. Coffee was the surprise walk-on superstar Quarterback. The one, no one saw coming.
And my husband? He was the recruiting agent, who made it all happen. I knew I loved that man.