The aroma of the fresh pot of coffee hit me before the alarm. There are few things that make me swoon like that smell. It is my daily reward for getting up before the sun and getting things started. I put on my robe and shuffled to the kitchen. There on the butcher block was my pottery coffee cup. It’s probably a misnomer to call it a cup, since it’s more like a cup-shaped bowl. I moved to the coffee pot in the corner and pour myself a ‘cup’ of fresh, hot morning coffee.
I went to the fridge and grabbed the half and half, unscrewed the spout and poured. I knew something was wrong when the carton turned like a counterweight in my hand. Then I heard it splash into my coffee, and the hot coffee sprayed up my arm. Spoiled, cottage-cheesy half and half is something that will make a grown man weep.
Inside, my brain screamed “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” like William Shatner overscreaming in The Wrath of Khan. Outwardly, I let out a sad sigh, closed my eyes, stopped and observed a moment of silence for the ruined cup of coffee.