COFFEE
Omigod omigod omigod. I woke up this morning ... and discovered that there is absolutely NO COFFEE in this entire house.
Ever since I gave up cigars and Spanish bullfighters, caffeine has been my drug of choice. Actually, it's always been my "drug of choice," ever since Grandma warned me that drinking it might "stunt my growth." (BTW. This is not an effective warning to give a gawky thirteen year old girl trying to lose thirty-five pounds before the Friday night dance: I was completely hooked on Folgers, ten minutes later.)
In addition to coffee's lovely stimulative qualities -- it used to fuel those all-night study sessions, now it fuels the all-night cyber marathons -- there is also something very soothing and pleasurable about the ritual involved in its creation. None of that hideous pre-ground supermarket potting-soil-that-passes-for-"coffee" stuff for me .. *we* like those oily little beans that dispense like jelly beans from the bin at Larry's Market and cost roughly as much as a pair of Reeboks. And none of those weenie electric coffee grinders, either: I still use the little wooden hand-grinder I picked up for fifty cents at a garage sale in 1981. (It hasn't been the same since Daughter #2 used it to grind EASTER EGGS a couple of years ago ... but it does give the brew an interesting texture.)
We have not one ... not two ... but THREE coffeemakers sitting on the kitchen counter, all in a row. Coffeemaker #1 is one of those all-purpose Procter-Silex jobs, not quite six months out of the box but already looking like it was present at The Dawn Of Time. This is *my* coffeemaker, obviously. #2 belongs to The Anti Husband, who keeps it filled with (gack) decaf. #3 was last year's Christmas present from the in-laws, and frankly it scares me to death: it has so many bells and whistles that I'm certain it is sitting there quietly plotting the violent overthrow of the government. We keep it on the counter just for "show." I hate that coffeemaker. I believe it hates me, every bit as much. But I digress.
When I stumbled out to the kitchen this morning and discovered that we were horrifyingly Coffeeless In Seattle, I immediately considered my options.
1. An alternate source of caffeine ... like, say, ten tea bags *infused* into eight ounces of water. Or melting the other half of my son's Hershey Bar into a mug of Pepsi. Neither seemed palatable, frankly.
2. Throwing on some clothes, trudging next door and asking Neighbor Guy Pete if I could borrow a cup or seven.
3. Not throwing on some clothes, trudging next door and asking Neighbor Guy Pete if I could borrow a cup or seven. (This would likely improve my odds.)
4. Throwing on some clothes, getting into the CAR and driving to the store. Unfortunately I currently have eleven cents to my name ... which wouldn't even buy me ONE of those oily little beans. Sigh.
5. Digging through the garbage in hopes of *discovering* yesterday's old coffee grounds.
Hmmmmmm.
You know what?
Once I plucked out the stray kernels of corn and the old BAND-AID ... those used coffee grounds don't look too bad ...
Viva la java.
b a c k t o g . h . i n d e x
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