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Not a drip had dropped

Today’s tale is scary and true and requires mental toughness to read through. You’ve been warned.

I enjoy a morning cup of coffee.

Not true. I drink three cups most mornings. And “enjoy” doesn’t describe addiction. I must have my morning three.

My wife spurns coffee (yes, she has a flaw). Yet she often visits Starbucks, where her favored beverage is green. Like liquid guacamole. Blech!

So, I’ve long brewed my daily fix in a little drip coffee maker. I dump in water and grounds each night. Come morning, I dash to punch the “Brew” button, then scurry to shower and dress. The first sip of black ambrosia follows.

I observed that routine Thursday night and Friday morning – and emerged from primping to find …

No ambrosia.

Let that sink in.

No. Coffee.

The coffee maker’s green “Brew” light still beckoned. But not a drip had dropped, and the grounds were dry. I poked and pawed, unplugged and replugged – and nothing.

Nothing.

Even horror stories sometimes end happily. Within hours, I’d bought a coffee maker. Best $19.99 I ever spent.


30-Second Read indulges a coffee fetish

Coffee for brains

Coffee delight

Coffee kindness

Simple pleasures

Brain functional connectivity

Coffee mug support group


Coffee maker deceit

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2 Comments

  1. Darlene Olivo Darlene Olivo

    Haha! Thank goodness for quick and easy replacements!

Comments are closed.