I have a daily routine. Except on weekends - I have no weekend routine besides sleeping all day. Anyways, my routine is this: My alarm goes off at 9am, and I hit the snooze button until around 10:30am. Then, I get up, drag myself to the kitchen, and make 2 cups of coffee that could be mistaken for tar. While the coffee is brewing, I go back to my room where I decide what I'm going to wear to work. Once I have my clothes picked out, I pour myself a cup of coffee, do my make-up (except for around my mouth), straighten my hair, pour and drink the second cup of coffee, get dressed, brush my teeth, finish my make-up, and then I leave.
I do not typically stray from this routine unless I hit the snooze button for longer than an hour and a half. If I do, then I usually opt for no make-up versus crazy hair.
Anyways, this morning, everything was going great. I was drinking my first cup of coffee while I was in my room straightening my hair...and when my coffee ran out, I went to the kitchen to pour myself my second and last cup of the morning...when I saw my aunt standing at the coffee maker, with a mug in her hand.
No way. You did not just pour yourself my other cup of coffee. No fucking way.
Yarly she did.
I stood in the entryway, watching her sip the coffee, when she turned to me and exclaimed, "I drank your last cup of coffee! Did you want it? I'm sorry."
No dude. I made the extra cup because I had no intention of drinking it, and just felt like wasting it? I look at her and blink.
"You make great coffee! It's so much better than that dishwater (my uncle's name) makes; you make real coffee!"
I blink again, still looking at the mug in her hand.
"Could you make a full pot of it? I think I want some coffee today! Here, do you want the rest of this cup? I only had a little bit of it."
I stand there looking at her, then at the coffeemaker, then at the clock, where I see that I need to leave for work in 20 minutes and don't really have time to make her a pot of coffee, let alone to have a cup from the new pot once it's done brewing. Now what do I do? Drink the cup that her nasty, who-knows-where-it's-been mouth has already made contact with, or have no more coffee at all?
She leaves the kitchen, and sits on the recliner in the living room where I can hear her slurping my cup of coffee. I can't believe this. I can't believe you had to drink my other cup of coffee. Couldn't you have like, asked me to make some extra when I first made it? Or perhaps...let me have my own last cup, but ask me to make some for you? No. You had to wait until it was too late for me to make more for myself to decide that coffee sounded good.
Yes, I like my coffee. Actually, I love my coffee. I'm like Milton with his red stapler when it comes to my coffee. This morning....sucked.
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