Because we are Caffeine’s Bitch. 

IMG_0642I loved Jean-Pierre.  I really did. He was so…..elegant.  With Jean-Pierre  I felt smarter, classier.  Sure, he was a little extra work, but he was worth it, he really was, for a while. Then my life changed and I realized that I was really doing ALL the work, and all he did was sit around being hot and smelling delicious. And in my new life, he just wasn’t anywhere near enough. Ever. 

So I put him in the cupboard and bought a Mr Coffee machine. 

Oh, yeah, Jean-Pierre is my French Press.  Back before the Life Hurricane in which divorce and another baby were key features, I was a low-tech coffee snob. I ground my own beans in a tranquil (ish) morning ritual, then put them in Jean-Pierre and together we made beautiful, fragrant coffee ……..excuse me, I might need a moment. 

OK!  Anyway,  all that Mindful Grinding of the Beans etc etc just takes too much time and effort these days. Yes, I know, it’s only five minutes, but it’s five minutes I don’t have to spare. You have to grind the beans to just the right coarseness, heat the water to just the right temperature, remember to push the plunger before the coffee’s cold. That’s too much first thing in the morning ……..I started to re-develop that nasty bottled frappucino habit, and my middle-aged muffin top was NOT thanking me.

Besides, Jean-Pierre at his best could only make me four* cups of coffee, and that’s just not going to cut it anymore, because The Canadian. 

The Canadian is a wonderful and endlessly fascinating man who I love more than the air I breathe; but he also has a fun** little collection of dysfunctions, and an addictive personality. And he NEEDS HIS CAFFEINE.  Lots of caffeine. His favorite mug holds a whopping 32 ounces and says “Size Matters”***, but I am convinced he would use a pink mug featuring frolicking kittens and the words “World’s Best Grandma”, if it was bigger. And if there’s not enough coffee to keep him running on all 27 cylinders, he doesn’t turn to frothy, girly frappucinos. Oh No. he turns to energy drinks. 

Energy drinks are evil. EVIL. As far as I can tell this is how they make an energy drink: take half a can of pure syrup, lace it with enough caffeine to give an elephant arrhythmia, then have Satan piss in the can to top it up. The Canadian has resorted to these diabolical concoctions at various times in his life, when he’s short on sleep and  HAS to keep going,  but then their addictive qualities meet his addictive personality, the viscous cycle of insomnia kicks in, and before you know it he’s drinking six or seven a day just to function. No, I don’t know how he isn’t dead. 

So he quit a while ago, bless him, cold turkey, because if he’s gonna do something it’s going to be in the most dramatic and painful way possible, and we made an interesting discovery. You know what a side effect of caffeine withdrawal is?  Insomnia. INSOMNIA. That’s right. A side effect of the thing you’re quitting is also a side effect of quitting. Add that to his regular over-active brain insomnia, and I don’t think the poor man slept at all for a month. 

But he got through it, and I got through him getting through it, and now we enjoy our Mr Coffee. You pour in the water, you pour in the ready ground coffee (using a spoon is for WEAKLINGS), you press a button, and Mr Coffee does the rest, providing us with enough basic black coffee to get us both through the day. Mr Coffee pulls his weight. 

Good thing too, because any day now the Canadian will quit cigarettes, and Leonard and I will definitely need Mr Coffee to get us through THAT. 

_______________________________________

*and that’s four snooty, tiny little European cups. 

**let’s call it that. 

***heh. Heh heh. 

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