One of Those Days

We’ve had Nick’s father around for dinner tonight—as we usually do on Thursdays—so we ate unusually early, to let him get to his 7 p. m. French class.

This meant I was in need of coffee much earlier than usual—and I turned to Nick to provide it.

I explained that I’d had a cup this morning, but only a weak one, and had been too lazy—alternatively, too busy—to make myself another pot during the day. This put me at least two cups behind my usual quota.

We compromised, in that Nick promised to make me a cup, but not until Specks and Specks started.

So as soon as that began, I was tensed in anticipation of the forthcoming coffee.

But I couldn’t smell the heavenly aroma of fresh-brewing coffee.

So the following conversation ensued, about fifteen minutes into the programme:

ME: You haven’t put the coffee on, have you?
NICK: I have!
ME: But it’s been fifteen minutes! Where’s the coffee?
(Honestly, I’m not an unpleasant person—just lazy and coffee deprived.)
NICK: It is on!
(Leaves the room, at which point a long pause ensues.)
NICK: Bugger.
ME: Yes?
NICK: It was on the wrong element, would you believe?

I would believe.

And I still don’t have a cup of coffee.

But I suppose it’s a small price to pay for being to lazy to make it yourself.