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Morning Coffee


I’m strolling through World Market in Savannah Ga, piling goods in that I don’t need, have no business buying and shouldn’t be wasting the money on, into my basket. Jalapeno cheese? Yum! Drop her in! Who cares if I have 7 different kinds of cheese in my frig at home? I’m an adult and I can have 86 different kinds of cheese in my frig if I want to.

Crackers? Of course! This kind looks good – let’s get 4 more!!!!!! The list goes on….an enormous container of pretzels, wine (just because we all know cheese and crackers are lonely without it) – tomato artichoke brushetta, a Christmas ornament and then spiced pumpkin coffee. I’ve got plenty different kinds of coffee at home but this one is special. Pumpkin spiced – that’s what they serve at Big Bucks and I pay 4 smacks for. I pick up the bag and squeeze the aroma into my nose…..pure bliss! I toss it in the basket too.
This morning I get out my ‘well hidden’ Ready whipped cream’ and set her out.
I warn a wide eyed Jake that if he takes one even one suck of my cool whip, I’d break his pointer finger. I’ve got my lil bottle of nutmeg (I was outta Cinnamon so I compromised) and now am ready to show Big Bucks that MY pumpkin spice coffee will be better more cost effective and not near as far for me to drive. Pull out coffee maker.
Wipe dust. (It’s been a while.)
Put coffee in filters, purified water – (I bet Big Bucks uses plain ole sewer water), squeeze bag one more time for good measure and add 3 tablespoons of pumpkin spice coffee.
Fire her up. Nada. Hit start again. Zero. Begin pushing every button on old ratted coffee maker. Not a peep. Slap side of coffee maker and begin insulting it, calling it very mean names. Naught. Pull out adds from paper and begin looking for new coffee makers that will be reliable
I like this on because it sparkles.

Jake drags himself to the kitchen and wants to know why I’ve been cussing out our coffee maker. “It’s broken.” I say, slapping it like it’s a derelit child. “Just ditch it. Look at this one, isn’t it cute?” He begins to explain that the coffee maker is an inanimate object and calling it names in order to shame it into working was nothing more than a futile effort. He continues on adding that this tactic did not work on He and his sister, Izzy, therefore I should know by now that it won’t work on the coffee maker either.
“Did you try to unplug and re plug it back in?” “Tried it. Nada. We need a new one.” “No, mom. We need to save money for my college. Let’s go to another plug.” (As if a new coffee maker will be the depending factor on weather or not Jake goes to college.) I appease the kid, gotta make him feel needed around here. (Even though all I needed was a brand new reliable coffee maker.) Plug in. Doesn’t work. Move to next plug. The routine continues across the kitchen. “What’s this crazy looking plug? Look, it has it’s own button. Dish you push the button?” “Nope, no need to push the GFI, this thing is toast.” I say as I’m scrolling down my new coffee maker features.
He pushed the button anyway.
Roll my eyes in at his wasted effort. Spiced pumpkin coffee aroma fills the air. Ummmhmmmm. Jake gloats, picks up my can of ready whip, lifts it to his mouth and opens wide.
I never cease to amaze myself.

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