The inevitable finally happened: the perfect storm of weekend overindulgence and laissez faire attitude has culminated in a gut-wrenching awareness that I’ve run out of coffee.
To some (who are you people?) this may seem rather silly, but I assure you, this is no good ship lollipop for this Surly Temple. Without my morning cup ‘o joe, I tend to get a wee bit anxious. But I’m no moodier than say… Jack the Ripper. Okay, slightly less. I would only hurt someone if they were standing between me and the coffee pot.
I was a late bloomer to this miracle bean. In my younger years, I forsook coffee shops for apartments wallpapered with tapestries and black-light posters; rooms pungent and hazy from cheap head-shop incense. With age comes wisdom, though. I finally saw the light. It was a glowing orange orb coming from my new best friend, Mr. Coffee.
And yes, Mr. C and I are still together. Oh, I was seduced over the years by newer, sleeker, high-maintenance models, with their hourglass decanters and K-Cups, but always returned to my first love. I’ve come to realize that relationships require hard work. Others promise increased satisfaction with less energy. I for one find no grounds for divorce.
Remember… Death before Decaf
Kenneth Kona Goorabian