I started out with good intentions. Monday mornings are great for that.
Half the coffee beans in the grinder were decaf.
The little ovals stared up at me from the depths of the grinder-dull, pale and sad, like the physical manifestations of all of the children of the world’s broken dreams.
The other half of the beans were deep, beautiful, dark Italian roast.
I stirred ’em up. Hit the button. Tapped the results into the cone filter balanced above mug and…
Wrinkled my nose in disgust.
Too light. I tossed the grinds into the trash and went for round two.
Maybe just a little more of the Italian roast…
Stirred ’em up. Hit the button. Tapped the results into my cone filter, and poured hot water over the top.
A little milk. A little sugar.
Results down the drain.
Maybe just a little more Italian roast, a little less decaf.
Stir. Button. Dark, rich coffee. Hot water. Sugar. Milk.
Heaven to my lips.
This decaf business isn’t so bad after all.
Especially when one weeds out all the decaf.