Are you there Coffee Pot? It’s me, Ashley

 My coffee pot and I do not have a symbiotic relationship. I need my coffee pot more than it needs me and I think it knows this.  It sits next to the toaster and now the toaster’s acting huffy. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I think they talk at night.

Coffee Pot: “So how are we going to jack with their heads tomorrow?”

Toaster: “I’m gonna burn the left piece of toast.

Coffee pot: “Just the left? I like it.”

The coffee pot is certainly the mastermind.

I’ve had this coffee pot for a year. One year. It’s a Black & Decker which made me feel as if I had a serious coffee pot because it’s cousins are lawn mowers and weed eaters; heavy duty machinery.  My coffee pot did not get enough fish oil in mitosis because there’s nothing heavy duty about this pot (i just said pot. that’s funny). The clock and automatic timer just stopped working one day.  I think a mule got a hold of it one cold afternoon and dropkicked it into a well. My husband just smiled and walked away when I shared this completely rational explanation. 

Each morning, I drag my sloth of a self into the kitchen with one eye closed because I can’t see out of my left eye.  I had lasik done years ago but only on my right eye. It was a gift from my mom but she could only afford to have the one eye shot with a laser beam.  This is all true by the way. She assured me that I would one day afford to get the other eye lasered. That day has yet to come.

I only wear one contact in my left eye but seeing takes second chair to getting my coffee in the morning. I approach the coffee pot looking like Cyclops.  Perhaps it’s frightened of me?  No, I don’t think so because when it’s finished percolating, it always lets out this monstrous growl as if to say, “OK, one eye, your coffee is ready! Can I go back to sleep now?”

 Not only does the clock not work but also the button doesn’t work that starts the coffee making.  I have to stick a knife in where the button was to start the coffee. The first time my husband saw me doing this he half yelled, “are you sticking a metal knife into the coffee pot??” I cocked my head his direction with my Cyclopes eye and he quietly left the kitchen crying.  Yes, I have to stick a knife into my coffee pot every morning to get coffee. 

Wait! I’m having an “aha moment”!

Poor coffee pot, I owe you an apology! 

Dear Coffee Pot,

Please forgive me for frightening you each morning with my one eye and for stabbing you with knives.  I can now see, through my good eye, why you growl at me like some primordial beast each morning.

BFF,

Ash

p.s I will toss you to the curb the first chance I get. Nothing personal, go live your dream.