The "score of the century" Up and Dies a Fast Death

About a year and a half ago, my husband delighted in showing me "the score of the century"--which was an add in a magazine for a sort of coffee of the month club with the added bonus gift of a sleek, sexy looking chromified coffee maker. "Can a coffee maker look sexy?", you ask? Well, yes it can. I doubted the merits of this program, and worried about getting sucked in to paying inordinate amounts for crappy mail-order coffee when we can pay inordinate amounts for reasonably good coffee right here at our local store, but he insisted I was missing the point.


"No! You are missing the point. We only order the first batch to get the coffee maker and then I cancel our subscription. I already have the first possible day you can cancel marked on my calendar on my computer at work. Trust me."

I knew he undoubtedly DID have it marked on his calendar, but I still questioned the quality of the coffee maker we'd be getting. As it turned out, I was wrong. Sort of. For a year and a half, our pretty little honey did all we hoped and dreamed. What was more, my husband delighted in pointing out the same coffee maker at all of our friends' houses:

"See? Everyone who is intelligent has done the exact same, intelligent thing."

I loved to hear her chugging away in the morning. I loved her filters--even the efficient looking cone shape. I loved how easily I could fill the glass carafe without spilling it all over. I loved everything about her...until the day she just up and died.

Without warning one morning she just gave up her caffieneted ghost. No notes of goodbye or reasons WHY she was leaving us, she just did. Perhaps we just used and abused her too much and she aged too fast. Perhaps she was flawed to begin with and we ignored the warning signs. Whatever the reason, I awoke after a late night staying up doing laundry, packing lunches and finishing an all important Law and Order only to hear my husband calling up the stairs as he left for work, "Bye Honey. Oh...and I think the coffee makers broken."

I jumped up quick at this. "Wait. WHAT?"

"Yeah, I went to make coffee this morning and nothing happened. Okay, bye!"

As the door closed, I felt oddly abandoned. That entire conversation happened too fast. The death of a friend isn't usually dismissed so cavalierly. I had to investigate for myself.

Five minutes later after pressing buttons, unplugging and replugging, tapping, shaking, begging and pleading, there I was morosely stirring my International Mayan Chocolate Lover's instant Delight. Hmmm. "Delight" is a strong word. After drinking it, I knew why they were trying to subconsciously force my enchantment. Standing there in front of my friend's corpse, I felt accused and dirty.

"You left me no CHOICE!" I hissed to her. "No cho-o-o-oice!"

Three hours later I was feeling the affects of my withdrawal. I forget exactly what I had planned for the day but it was a LOT. There was some volunteering, some painting, some driving, I think we went to gymnastics, but I can't be sure. It was all a blur of sleepiness. I had no time to go get a NEW coffee maker which was what I wanted to immediately after I half-heartedly drank my International Mayan Chocolate Displeasure.

Aaron, on the other hand was feeling none the worse. He has access to copious amounts of coffee at work. I was actually contemplating where I could go to get some free coffee. Even going back to work now seemed a good possibility. "I'll bet the teacher's lounge at the girls' school has it. Perhaps I could just sneak...".

Believe it or not, three days later I finally brought the brand new baby home. After much research on Amazon, some coupon rustling and four phone calls to Aaron from Bed, Bath and Beyond, we found a replacement.

This time I've dubbed it a "he". I have yet to name him, but he is undoubtedly masculine and not nearly as a pretty on the eyes. Not even six-pack abs Men's Health magazine masculine. More like someone that comes over and breaks your plant-stand in two minutes by walking, masculine...and sort of hairy. Either way, I giggled as I walked into Bed, Bath and Beyond with my cup of coffee from the coffee shop. I'd held out so long and I just didn't see me making an educated decision without some positive, alert reinforcements.

So the next time your "score of the century" coffee maker goes out, don't feel bad about going through the drive through. I will never get those three days back. And although everyone around me treated me the same after, I can't shake the feeling that I may have done something inappropriate during my time of mourning and caffeine alienation.

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