The great coffee maker (sort of) tragedy of 2016

Last Friday I took the day off from work so I could do my own thing, which meant doing something for everyone else, since it was the Friday before Christmas and I had very-last-minute shopping to do. I was barely awake when Spouse came into the bedroom with his breakfast on a plate and obvious distress in his eyes.

“We have a BIG problem,” he said in a semi-tragic tone. Before I had a chance to ask what could possibly be so terrible, he uttered a phrase that can strike terror into the hearts of even a morning person.

“The coffee maker died.”

No.  No No No. Not on a Friday. Not on my day off. Not before I had even a sip of life-giving java. Tell me one of the cats destroyed our living room curtains (which I wanted to replace). Tell me someone broke in and stole all our furniture (which I also wanted to replace). Just please - don’t even hint at the suggestion of a coffee-less morning.

Spouse somehow dragged himself to work where he would be able to hit the coffee bar, but Second Born and I were on our own. There was only one thing to do. Just as a mother eagle soars through the air and hunts for sustenance in order to help her babies thrive, I knew I had to be the hero. I threw sweats on over my pajamas, crawled to the car and drove to the corner store. What I discovered there was nothing short of Coffee Utopia.

Toward the back of the store stood a display of 25 beautiful, shiny coffee urns, each with a unique flavor or strength. My heart leaped with joy, but my eyes swept over this plethora of caffeine choices with a sense of panic.  How do I choose between Cinnamon Sugar Cookie and Egg Nog? Wait – is that Pecan Sticky Buns? Toasted Marshmallow Mocha? “What is this place?” I whispered in awe.

The choice was heart wrenching. After several minutes of indecision over the two rows of caffeinated (and decaf, to be fair) goodness, I eventually went with Plan B. I narrowed it down to two flavors and left with a pledge to return to this wondrous place.

Plan A had been to bring home eight cups.

I returned home and walked in the door to find Second Born staring into space. At my appearance she exclaimed, “Oh thank goodness,” and lunged for one of the two cups in my hand.

I needed the caffeine boost to start my morning more than ever, especially now that the crucial task of finding a new coffee maker had to be done before the sun set on our collection of coffee mugs.

The research began in earnest after breakfast. I looked up reviews of the top ten automatic drip coffee makers with timers. I searched store websites to see who had what on sale. Armed with model numbers and pictures on my phone, Second Born and I began our relentless pursuit of the best match for our coffee needs.

Here’s the thing about the models on those lists. If you want Model XR-43383 you probably won’t get any closer than XR-43380. It’s bait and switch – bait them with the promise of awesomeness and switch it to the one they overstocked.

After 15 minutes of nothing matching up, Second Born suggested ordering one online. I stared at her as if we could not possibly be related. Wait at least four days for delivery because of the holiday? We would have to cancel Christmas. She hung her head in shame.

About that relentless pursuit… we grabbed one with the features we wanted (you know, like brewing coffee) and called it a day.

The next morning the sound and scent of coffee grounds and water harmoniously blending wafted down the hallway. All was right with the world once again, but there is one little thing. I believe a cup of Jamaican Me Crazy is still calling me from the corner store.