I'm feeling decidedly crappy, but, hey, after scaring the bejeebers out of myself, 'decidedly crappy' I can handle. I came downstairs this morning and I was (say it with me, people) tired. I was so flipping exhausted that I could hardly wait to get through packing Tim's lunch so that I could make my coffee. I wrapped his two sandwiches (cajun turkey breast, swiss cheese, lettuce, ketchup on nine grain bread). I put in his goodies (an apple, fruitsnacks, peach cup, and a chocolate cupcake). I put in his frozen water bottle and his one can of pepsi and his second can of caffeine free pepsi, for his afternoon break.
Then I turned to my coffee pot. It was dismantled. I didn't remember doing that, but I do remember washing the things yesterday. I unloaded the dish strainer, putting the thing back together, but the metal perforated cup was missing. Somehow, I'd managed to dump it in the trash while emptying my grounds. I couldn't imagine myself doing such a thing, but it was the only possible answer, and so I heaved a sigh and went out to bring in the garbage bag. Tim asked what I was doing, and I explained, more than a little peeved at myself. "I honestly don't even remember ripping the thing apart yesterday," I said, with the frustrated tone that only a woman deprived of caffeine could manage. And Tim said, "Well, when you were getting ready for church, I ripped it apart. I wanted to see how many watts the thing uses." (It's hell being married to Professor Potter, let me tell you. And no, I'm not talking about wizards. The reference is pre-wizard, going back to the day of flying cars and a little girl named Jem, the boy named Jeremy. Professor Potter was their inventer father. Name that book. late edit: it turns out that the professor was named Professor Potts, not 'Potter' Still though, name that book.) In any case, I looked up at Tim, still digging through the garbage. I had one thought. It didn't matter what the watt usage was of this particular appliance. I need my coffee. Ergo, the pot stays right where it is. But very carefully, I said to Tim, "So when you were dumping the grounds, do you remember what you did with the little metal cup?" He looked at me blankly. "What little metal cup?" I pointed to the piece on the counter. "The metal cup that fits inside of that. It has holes in the bottom and the coffee runs through it..." and he said, "I didn't see it." At the same time, I did see it, and triumphantly pulled it out of the trash.
Tim doesn't get it, but had this been the morning after garbage pick-up, this day would have become 'the day that would live in infamy'. Sort of.