This morning literally started with me getting my panties in a bunch.
I should learn to take signs like this one as direct messages from God. “Caitlin, this day, it’s not yours, h’okay? Fuhgeddaboudit. Just get back in bed. You can’t win this one. Capice?”
Instead, I spit and swore my way through donning the new underwear that I just bought from Target. (This purchase makes the third Hanes purchase in a row that’s been disappointing. Something about their elastic and cotton material seems different, and I am not a happy camper.)
And I trudged on, pulling on my jeans and moving on with my day, which could only be rectified—naturally—with a pot of coffee. Still bleary-eyed and feeling all sorts of restricted, I got my coffeemaker ready to go… Only to have it literally spew grinds at me (how? I don’t know) and gurgle now coffee ground-ridden, dirty water. I cleaned up, scalded my hand on the kitchen faucet, made a fresh pot that smelled distinctly of an odor best described as cat pee lit afire, and then tossed it down the drain.
Giving up, I decided I’d drive to work and hit up a coffee shop on the way. As I walked out to my car, I noticed that the block was strangely empty. Oh no, street cleaning! I thought. A quick glance up and down the block revealed no street cleaning signs, however. But alas! A ticket! (My second this week!) And indeed, tucked underneath a small tree with low swinging branches was the only sign posted for three-quarters of the block: Street cleaning, Thursday, 9 am to 3 pm.
I took a long look back at my front door. It was like God was standing there in the window, waving the memo he sent me: Fuhgeddaboudit, Caitlin!
Sometimes, I should listen.
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Sometimes we just need a day off
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Best Part of Waking Up...
I’m not sure how I remember this Folgers commercial if it’s dated from 1986 (although stranger things have happened with my memory from my early months/years), but perhaps it reran for years following. Regardless, I have this distinct memory of being curled up in an armchair and watching this Folgers ad, drowsy, almost drugged, from the energy of the Christmas holidays. I loved this commercial though and kept my eyelids from drooping when it came on. This commercial spoke to me. My family bought Folgers—I recognized that big red tub—and I was the youngest in the family with much older siblings. It only made sense that my family was like the one in the commercial—ideal and caffeinated. I’m glad I found this.
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