For me that first cup in the morning is like a religious experience. Most days, the smell of it brewing downstairs is the only thing that gets me out of bed. My favorite coffee is Douwe Egberts brewed in a French press. Since my husband, Jeff, routinely gets up before I do, he's the one that usually gets it going, God bless him.
However, over the past few days Jeff, aka The Quicken Nazi, has been substituting Maxwell House French Roast for my Dutch Douwe Egbert. I know! Wednesday evening he even said to me, "You didn't even notice I'd switched up the coffee the past two mornings, did you?"
I stared at him, mouth-breathing, with a swollen red nose and bloodshot eyes, a crumpled tissue in my hand. A hand that was clenching into a fist.
'Oh yeah. You have a cold."
I hadn't tasted anything in four days.
My son made the "Mama Bird" drawing you see here. I keep it in a frame on my desk. It cracks me up. Actually, Jeff doodled the Mama Bird, but Kyle put in all the rest: the hand holding the steaming coffee cup; the box of coffee; the caption at the top, "My Mornen is Like This" and the dialogue balloon with Mama Bird saying, "Ohboyoboy." When my son was seven, he understood the significance of my morning cup of coffee. Something that my husband of 21 years apparently has yet to learn.
Today was the last straw. Maxwell House. No French Press. He used the dreaded coffee maker. I'm not a real high-maintenance lady (Get your own blog, Honey). I don't wear designer clothes or have the need to go out to fancy restaurants or spas all the time. But my coffee. I am particular about my coffee.
Since last night was the first time with this cold that I didn't have to slug down any Nyquil to get through the night, I actually tasted my coffee this morning. I had to cut it with more than my usual amount of cream. And I am already known for my proclivity to use a lot of cream in my coffee. "Extreme cream" is how I order it when I'm at work. (In light of the recent ill-fated airline coffee event, Coffee Spill Diverts Flight, I must speak up here in favor of drinking coffee in the cockpit. We do not drink it because we're thirsty. We drink it to help us stay awake. And since those jets do NOT fly themselves, this, as you might imagine, is important. Like I told Jeff, if they ever try ban coffee in the cockpit there won't be any non-stop flights to anywhere, because we'll all be landing short so we can sit down and have a cup.)
I am hopeful tomorrow my husband will change his errant ways and get back to the regularly scheduled morning coffee program. I fear if he doesn't, he may end up as Jeff, aka The Weight Watchers Nazi, because he'll find himself married to a whole lot more Mama Bird.