Some of us do not give a shite that it is my last day with coffee.
The last day I would see my old friend, the Hamilton Beach Brew Station. With its gurgly, friendly self.
Look how filthy it looks with the flash shining on it. Ick. Anyway, here I am, pouring my last HALF CUP.
The world tilted drunkenly, thinking of me giving up my favorite beverage.
I have been trying to think of when I started having coffee. I know my mother forbade it when I was a kid, along with soap operas, so naturally I drank it all the time at my grandmother's house while we watched her soaps. Gramma always had a pot of coffee on, all day long. She drank hers with a big spoonful of Cremora, which let's face it, is delicious. And so good for you!
It was so cozy, drinking coffee with gramma. And watching Hope and Bo and Rick and Leslie or whomever.
By the time I was a teenager, I drank coffee every morning, and I have done so ever since. When I first married Marvin, he used to buy extra coffee and hide it, because the first morning I got up and saw we were out of coffee, he got scared of me. So he always had backup on hand.
I love coffee. I drink french roast, black. No Cremora for me. Last fall, we were at the fair, and inside the crafts building I saw this old lady with her Mr. Coffee coffeemaker, pouring the Cremora into her cup, and I missed my gramma so bad I couldn't breathe.
Anyway, this is it. My best friend has turned on me and my delicate brain.
Goodbye, old friend. I'll see you once a year. At those black tie functions.