I’ve realized that my husband let’s me sleep late each morning because otherwise he has to deal with morning-Jeannette.
And unless she climbs out of bed on her own accord, she’s a crabby beast.
I am so not a morning person.
While making coffee today, I was thinking about how I should learn to use the cappuccino/espresso section of my new, gigantic coffee pot. After reading through the directions, I realized the chances of me figuring it out on my own are slim. There are a few too many steps that include something about cranking the handle a certain way or the coffee grinds will go everywhere, make a mess and ruin the cappuccino or espresso.
When faced with a situation where I must do something one particular way or all hell breaks loose, inadvertently, I will break hell loose.
New plan: forget about making cappuccino or espresso. I’ll just beer bong my coffee for the ultimate caffeine rush.
By the time I finished dreaming this scenario, ten minutes or so had passed. I started to pour my first cup and notice eight cups of coffee in the pot.
What the hell?
I only brewed five.
That means three of those cups were leftover from Sunday.
Had I been paying attention to what I was doing, as opposed to standing there half asleep, dreaming of coffee-bonging half a pot of coffee in the shower (for easy clean-up), I might have noticed the two-day-old coffee already in the pot.
Update: When I told James I did this, he asked, "How did it taste?"
As if I'd drink it.
Listening to: Modest Mouse - Exit Does Not Exist