Black or Nothing In Mine, Thanks


I make lousy coffee.

Which wouldn’t be so bad, were I not the only coffee drinker in the house.

This means that I have no choice but to make do with my own vile brew each morning – drinking daily from a cup of liquid bad karma, choking it down like the addict I am.

Thankfully, Quinn has the same morning temperament that I have – nothing happens until the fix is accounted for. Mine’s the coffee, his is a half hour with books or Play-Doh.

So he leaves me be with whatever new method I try to work with. It doesn’t matter though. Good beans or bad, bottled water or tap, weigh the grounds or measure them, the coffee is still just this side of sludge. I can even screw up a single pot bag.

And if anyone mentions K-cups to me again, I’m going to find the nearest clock tower and start shooting.

I know they exist, I’m anti-social, not oblivious.

But at my current rate of consumption, K-cups would run me an easy $30 a week. I could heat my house for a year for that. So, no.

So the day I couldn’t wait for the pot to brew, and  just grabbed my mug from the counter as soon as there was enough, I wasn’t really surprised to find it tasted awful.

I took it back to my office anyway, choking down half of it while I prepared for my workday.

It really was more nasty than usual though, so as soon as my client sheets were in order, I went back out to top it off from the full pot, thinking it would temper some of the rank.

Taking it back, I booted up the computers and choked down a little more of the black sludge. While I waited for all my electronic junk to do its magic, I went back to the kitchen and eyed the offending pot. Clearly I had used too much something. Compost?

Who knows, but it was clearly time to cut my losses and brew another pot. But because I really didn’t want to give up, I topped off the cup with pure water, thinking to dilute it into a semi-drinkable state while I waited for the fresh pot.

It just wasn’t happening. I gave up and dumped the cup in disgust.

And saw this fresh new Hell.

This? Is orange marmalade. Under no circumstance should anything resembling this appear in the bottom of my cup.

I just stared at the glob, stomach churning as I wondered what the monstrous blob could be.

I took the cup out of the cupboard minutes before pouring the coffee. We store them upside down, so nothing can fall into them.

I may be the only time in my life I can truly recall being utterly unable to comprehend what I was seeing.

Mom.

Not. Now.

Mooooooom!

Quinn. Please. Wait just a minute.

The words came out harshly, a staccato I couldn’t reel in as I fought to both understand and keep my stomach lining in place.

But Mom, you stole my cup of Play-doh.

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