Automatic Coffee Pot Fire Prevention Service.
It’s 7:30. I woke to the chimes of a grandfather clock and brewing coffee. Well, I first woke to my alarm exploding off the night stand but, continuing my lazy streak (and for fear of no coffee) fell back asleep for two more hours.
Now, confident that I’ll at least have caffein, I’m up still before the rest of the house. I figure Alyska’s father would be up first. It always feel weird to be up before the house when visiting others. With my routine (if the streak of laze can be called that now) it is pretty much ensured that I am moving before all others.
This only appears problematic when the need for coffee devour ones soul. Do I risk the electric malice of an unfamiliar coffee pot where I will likely burn something - myself, the cat, the curtains - or am I doomed to sit, morose to time cruising by, awaiting rescue from those who still sleep. Those who know which button won’t punish me?
Over dramatic. Everyone understands the need for coffee. One can sate one’s addiction nearly without consequence as long as one don’t burn the house down.
The family here knows what’s up. An automated coffee maker is really a fire and sleep insurance plan. And it further breeds good will as, now that the last drips or dripping and I in the kitchen pretending the journal entry is a treatise on coffee automation as good hospitality when actually it is an addiction-fueled, narcissistic romp through my morning journaling, am going to get up and find the coffee mugs.
A proper coffee addict puts them in the cabinet directly above the maker. And who isn’t a proper addict?