So it’s Saturday morning, the day after the big bash at Suite 100 and I’m out of coffee.
I slept horribly, woke early to write my Musings, and groused around the house trying to decide if getting coffee would be worth the effort of brushing my teeth. I’ve already hauled a few plants off the porch onto the deck to join the others in rain-catching. I’ve read the paper and consumed two cups of Earl Grey which did not do anything for me.
Then Jessica awakens and I tell her, I must have coffee, and she says she filled the can with the beans from the freezer. That’s left-over decaff, I groan, and she begins to laugh uproariously. I’ve been drinking that thinking I’m getting my coffee! she cackles and then I giggle. I tell her, I have to have some real coffee RIGHT NOW Or I swear I will start shooting people beginning with the dog.
And Jessica calls to Addao, her son, Protect Little Girl, Dao! and Addao comes running out from the back bedroom. He stands in the doorway watching the two women of the household, caffeine-deprived wenches, whose laughter has risen, gripped their middles and erupted into the air.
Some things just merit complaint. Being out of coffee sits in the top ten. But I’m not complaining. Jessica, Addao and I went to Mud Pie, where Addao had the world’s largest chocolate cookie, Jessica tried fake honey in her Almond milk latte, and I got a dark-roast Americano. Jessica helped a lady with US Airborne license plates back out of an impossibly tight parking space, and the sun finally decided that it could conquer the weeks of rain.