Give Me Coffee and No One Will Get Hurt...

Java Jive

One of the greatest inventions of man is the auto-timer on a coffeepot. It’s amazing how you can hear the soft click of the pot turning on, through any depth of sleep. It’s like a dimmer switch inside your head that is gradually turning your lights on. By the time I can smell the coffee, I’ve got my hair pinned up and I’m nearly dressed. I scream at my kids to get up, which helps clear my throat so I’m ready for a nice day of yelling at them, talking over people I dislike, and cursing at things that don’t work. I owe the smooth flow of my day to the auto-timer on my coffeepot.

But recently, when one of my brothers and I decided to move in together, my coffeepot was broken in the move. He said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a coffeepot. I get up earlier than you, I’ll make the coffee.” That’s what he said.

But men lie.....they lie and they are sadistic.

Sometimes there is coffee in the morning waiting for me and sometimes not.

On the mornings when I have to make it myself, I am forced into the battle I hate. First, you put in the water, which I forget to do sometimes until I smell coffee grounds baking. Sometimes I put in the water, but forget the coffee and come into the kitchen for a cup of coffee tinted hot water. If I do remember to put in the grounds, I have to confront that monster we all hate...the compressed stack of coffee filters. I believe there is a layer of weak glue between each coffee filter in the stack. Not enough for you to be certain the filters are glued together, but enough to make you battle for a single filter. The best you can do is pull out two or three stuck together and then you have to massage them to separate them and stuff one back into the plastic bag, if you can. The first cursing heard in any household is done by the poor tired soul who was just trying to get out one lousy coffee filter! Eventually, I will get the coffee and the filter and the water into the pot at the same time. I flip the ‘on’ switch and the little red light speaks to me, “Be calm, I bring forth the miracle of coffee. Your quest for consciousness is nearly ended.”

When there is coffee ready and waiting for me in the morning. I am happy. I am happy until I realize that I cannot get the top off of the honey jar. To fight off allergies, I have a teaspoon of honey in my coffee every morning (say what you will, it works great for me). Unless someone, who shall go unnamed, has torqued the top of the jar on so tight I can’t get it off even after running it under hot water.

When I complain to him at the end of the day that he screwed the lid on too tight again, he laughs. He laughs because men are sadistic, they just love knowing that even though a woman can run a corporation, she still can’t open a jar. It’s this sick little moment of superiority they all enjoy. I have rubber grippers and a clamp jar opener and it is still a major battle to get a lid off in this house! This is why I have never remarried, I like to be able to open jars and I am not willing to go to ‘Defcom 4’ if the TV remote is missing.

Last Friday morning, there was no coffee again. So I started to make coffee and I thought I’d scramble some eggs too. As I cracked and dropped an egg into a freshly poured, honeyless, cup of coffee, I realized I needed professional help to make breakfast. So I went to Pat & Steve’s. They are caring breakfast professionals who help the morning impaired. Nurse Clarissa gave me coffee, eggs, bacon and even toast. I never have toast because if I successfully make myself coffee, eggs and bacon, I don’t want to jinx it by going for toast.

I am buying a new coffeepot with a timer. I will set it up the night before as usual. I will be like Winnie the Pooh and keep my jar of honey in my room, and if anyone touches it, I will break his hands with a mallet.