At 5:30 a.m. Wednesday morning, I bumbled upstairs to wake up my daughter, then ventured back downstairs to find this note on the kitchen table: "Coffeemaker shot craps. The outlet works, but the coffeemaker doesn't. Take it back right away for a refund, get it fixed, or call my cousin who works at the Bunn factory. Must have coffee!" The note was from my husband who had been up late the night before. He was sleeping, so I dare not wake the bear to ask questions.
Three things immediately happened:
1) I was disappointed to know that I would not get my morning cup of joe, but I was headed to town, so I could get a cup in town - no biggie.
2) I thought of how my day would be overrun with this errand of repairing or replacing our Bunn extravaganza morning happy maker supreme machine.
3) I realized (gulp) that my husband would not be tolerable without coffee and that my life's mission for that day would absolutely consist of nothing but finding a remedy for the absence of brewed coffee in the house.
Our coffee is very important to us right now. It's what keeps us sane. It's what wakes us up joyfully. It's what protects us. Yes, you heard me right, it protects us... from him. I'm talking about my husband. It isn't bad enough that he drinks coffee like water on a normal day, but this of all days? This day? No, this couldn't be happening. You see, this was my husband's second full day of abstinence from a bad habit that will remain nameless (ah-ah-chew...excuse the sneeze) and he was doing fairly well. He had only lost his cool once so far and it was not horribly bad, considering.
Coffee, you see, was keeping him from going psycho on the three of us girls. I had heard multiple very deep sighs coming from within the belly of his soul that first day and I knew he was fighting it hard as it was, but without the blessed coffee? His note took on new urgency. I panicked with the realization that if I didn't get an identical coffee supplying machine ASAP, I could be subject to unspeakable withdrawal demons being unleashed upon me and my innocent children.
Then I decided to look at the Bunn fantastical wondrous beam of light to our souls machine myself to see if I could determine the problem, which he had failed to include in the note. We have one of those Bunn machines that stays plugged in all the time. It stores heated water so that when you put the water in, it just pushes out that amount of hot coffee in mere minutes. The only button you ever have to turn on and off is the warmer if you need it. It's really cool and really fast. I looked at the supreme coffee machine and noticed something right away. The power button was off.
Simply put, my husband had a brain fart. The red toggle switch had been inadvertently hit and when the coffee supplying machine didn't supply, my husband immediately jumped to the worst possible thought pattern. No wonder he came to bed with such a heavy sigh and prayed extra fervently that night before sliding into bed! I had to giggle. And yes, he even giggled with me later. Of course he giggled... because he had coffee properly coursing through his veins.
Folgers, have no fear. The wife is here to save the day once again. Until the next brain fart happens...