People with considerable taste will likely find it appalling to know that the first thing I do every other morning is pour cold coffee left over in the pot into my mug. Which I then pop in the microwave for 1:45 (because this is a convenient pattern not because I think this amount of time is important.) Then while the machine is doing its blessed work, I get breakfast for The Boy started.
I love me some coffee. Strong, deep dark coffee, these days with a splash of flavoured creamer. Not a bad addiction in comparison to some… And I am not bothered if it is day old, as long as it is hot and in my mug.
But there is the problem. Drinking it while hot. If the first thing I do in the morning is heat the coffee, I am lucky if I get to drink it hot, what with putting breakfasts on, making sure lunches go into bags, children into socks, food into cat dish. By the time I sit to eat, aka drink my coffee, it is close to tepid. I take a few sips, get distracted and drawn into the morning. But the time I actually sit to drink it, it needs to go back into the microwave. Shudder. (Even I have my standards.)
This morning I took a fated sip of tepid coffee, grimaced, and put it back in for another 1:45. As I walked to the kitchen, I said aloud, to myself, the plants and cats “today’s mission; drink a mug of coffee while it is actually hot” and then we all had a good chortle.
At the beep I was standing ready, pulled open the microwave and reached in with too much enthusiasm. While 1 minute 45 is a decent amount of time for a full mug, I can assure you it is far too long for a mug now half full. Which had reached boiling point and splashed upwards as I reached in, burning the palm of my eager hand.
Irony? Karma? Or just a nasty trick?! Certainly a reminder all day of my little scoffing joke to myself. Fine, lesson learned. A hot cup of coffee is a luxury for any mother. And one to be earned. Its cool though, my hand smells like burnt coffee with a splash of hazelnut. So I can just sniff that as I go about my day.