I like to think that I am a creature of few habits.
I don’t get up at the same time every day.
…don’t eat the same breakfast every day.
…don’t eat at the same time every day.
I don’t even drink my morning coffee every day. Out of 365 days of the year, I’ll bet I only drink my morning coffee 362 of those days.
When I drink my morning coffee, it’s usually a large cup from my Keurig–if it’s working. If it’s not working I’ll make my coffee in my Cuisinart drip 12 cup. But, I only make eight cups.
I drink a full cup of coffee, and I drink it black, to the top.
Kind’a like a habit, I guess.
There are some days when I get into the shower before I make coffee. On those days, if Bossman isn’t already on the golf course, he’ll make me a cup and put it on my vanity in the bathroom as I shampoo my golden locks. I’ll give him a sweet wave above the shower door and he waves back. It’s touching, right? Right.
Sounds a little like a habit. Hmmm…
That happened on Tuesday of this week. While I was showering he brought me coffee and we waved. As I toweled off, I glanced at my coffee. Something was wrong. That damn Keurig must have scaled up again because there’s only a quarter of a cup of coffee in my Goofy mug. I held the towel in one hand, picked up the cup, took it into the bedroom and roused Bossman from his slumber.
“Hon? Hon! Is the Keurig broken again? Where’s the rest of my coffee? Is this all of it?”
I was a little panicked and one might say I was close to whimpering.
He opened an eye. “I only made you a small cup.” The eye closed.
He what? Did he say “small cup”?
“What? Why did you do that? I usually leave this much coffee in my cup when I’m finished drinking it. I can’t start drinking it at the leave level. It’s not right. You…you…you’ve messed up my brain. You did this on purpose?”
“It’s all you drink anyway.”
I looked into the cup. My engineer of a husband was most likely right. Again. It probably was all I drank. But…
Who The Hell Cares?!?!? What a jerk!!!! I hate it when he’s right!!
He was back to comatose from his Ambien second wind. I made a face at him.
Returning to the bathroom I placed the cup on the sink and stared at it while I dried, dressed and put my face on. I lifted the cup to my lips, took a sip and placed it back on the counter.
“I’m done. This is my done level. I can’t drink anymore when it’s at the done level.”
My brain was expecting a full cup. My brain was now fried—over easy.
I left to babysit my grandson and six dogs with no coffee in my brain.
Then I got a text with a picture of my “leave level” coffee from Bossman.
What the hell….