On weekends I have a routine. I sit at the computer and read blogs while sip two (yes, count them..TWO) cups of freshly brewed Nabob coffee. Each one brewed meticulously, one at a time. Each one brewed especially how I like it.
My coffee has to be dripped through an unbleached, environmentally friendly #2 cone filter with three scoops of Nabob tradition coffee and screaming hot water from a kettle that our family has decided we all hate. We look at it in suspicion daily, thinking that we should have bought the better, albeit more expensive model while we will the stupid thing to boil and not give up part way through.
Go ahead. Tell me I'm crazy and that is way too strong, and that nobody in their right freaking mind would consider three scoops of coffee grounds because that would make coffee that would cause your eyeballs to fall out and twitch on the floor. Everyone else does-which is why I don't make the coffee at work.
Usually I just explain that I once worked for Starbucks in my youth and then they nod and say,
"Oh well, that explains it," as if somehow working for Starbucks so permeated me with coffee that I'm permanently damaged. Sure, I used to go home covered in oils and would smell so strongly of coffee that I was a walking advertisement for lattes, but I doubt that it affected my taste buds.
This morning, as I sat at the computer reading blogs, I left my chair to wander into the kitchen and turn on the kettle. I readied the small plastic coffee dripper with a fresh filter, and three scoops of grounds. Unlike my husband, I refuse to use the same filter twice. That is just disgusting, and when I found out that he had the audacity to do so I informed him that he would never make my coffee that way. Not that he makes me coffee that often anyway.
I read a few more blog posts, then returned to the kitchen to fix myself up another cup of coffee so I could get on with my day.
"HEY! WHO STOLE MY WATER?!?!"
Hub's mug sat there with the filter and coffee that I had so meticulously prepared, happily brewing a fresh cup of coffee into his cup. There wasn't a drop of hot water left. I considered just pouring that freshly brewed coffee into my cup and leaving his mug empty, but he had even put milk in his cup. He knows that little else makes me gag more then milk in my coffee.
So I had to fill up the kettle and again prepare a filter, all the time grumbling about how he stole MY coffee.
"I'm sorrrry...." he rubbed my shoulder while he stood there with his freshly brewed cup, MY cup, sipping it and grinning.
"That's okay, " I pointed to the cookie jar up on top of the fridge. The cookie jar that holds all the home made oatmeal chocolatey-goodness that Hubs just must have after lunch with his coffee.
"I ate the last cookie."