CLM said something sweet. Now that she’s on her own for coffee in the morning, she bought a coffee pot to make her own. And she noted: “It doesn’t taste as good as when you make it in the office.”
I responded with “that’s because I make mine with love.”
A horrible joke because:
A – Like I have some to spare.
B – That requires a recipe and I ain’t thinking before coffee.
C – I was actually trying to be mean and imply she has issues loving herself. Self loathing, low self esteem, that kind of thing. But it missed its mark completely. But this isn’t about her emotional baggage. It’s about the nectar of life, coffee.
The truth of the matter is, my 11-year old coffee pot is a tested veteran in the ways of rich, delicious coffee. Her pot is a brand spanking new rookie. Just up from Double-A, with wide eyes that are caught in headlights over every little thing in The Show; not quite sure if it belongs; and still smelling of like fresh plastic.
Which leads me to think of all those times CLM looked down at my coffee pot and commented about how it needed to be cleaned and was gross or disgusting, only to hear me respond: “That’s flavor!”
See? Guys are more than just disgusting slobs who don’t want to clean something we need daily. We’re brewmasters. Each layer of previous coffee grime has its own aromatic purpose.
And while that primary purpose is “to prevent me from having to clean the pot,” it still makes a darn good cup of delicious coffee. I think someone owes the disgusting coffee pot an apology.