if you loved me you'd go to tim hortons

It is essential to start the day off on the right foot. And for me that means two things: a shower and a cup of coffee so hot it would cauterize the taste buds of most. Allow me those two things and I can deal with anything else three disorganized people throw my way, which includes but is not limited to: a perpetually misplaced parking pass, socks with "bumps," an empty milk jug (after the cereal is already in the bowl), shirts with "bumps," and a sudden, urgent need to colour. I need a shower and then I need my coffee. It's elemental.

I turn 40 next year and I'm taking stock. And you know, settling into life a bit isn't so bad. There are things you learn and things you earn with age. I finally get the whole wisdom/age thing people are always banging on about. Being a regular at a restaurant, for instance, means I can order off the menu, my kids can wander into the kitchen and no one minds, and the owners treat us like cherished friends. Another thing I've discovered: I really don't care about fashion anymore. I realized this after I pulped three issues of Fashion magazine without cracking a spine. Frankly I wear what's clean and doesn't cut off my circulation. This will probably earn me a visit from Stacey and Clinton one day, but no mind. My relationship with my coffeemaker has also evolved over the years. The DeLonghi was a wedding gift. It was hauled out of the cupboard every Christmas to make one flavourless pot and then it was promptly put away. I could never make a decent brew at home. One day I set about scientifically testing different beans, grinds, and water-to-coffee ratios until eureka! I made a fantastic pot of coffee and it changed my mornings for the better forever.

This morning I arose as usual to the pleasant sound and aroma of percolating coffee but when I went to pour a cup I discovered the filter basket was not in place. It was, inconveniently, two feet away in the dish rack. What happened next doesn't bear repeating. Suffice to say there was a mess, there was mild scalding, there were accusations, and then during the clean-up a plastic thing broke off the coffeemaker leaving the filter door swinging uselessly like a broken arm. The long-term implications (what if DeLongi no longer makes this machine? Will I have to learn how to make coffee all over again?) were dwarfed by the problem at hand: getting a coffee now. Imagine discovering that the man who would once walk across hot coals for me (and let's not point fingers but let's also not forget who actually broke the coffeemaker in the first place) would not go to Tim Horton's in my moment of need. Thankfully I was able to jerry-rig something with a couple of elastic bands and eke out a small pot. All I will say is duly noted friend, duly noted.