As do bagels.
This morning was no different. I rolled off my mat on the floor and groggily stumbled into the kitchen-where with great delight, I discovered that it was new-bag-of-coffee-day.
This is something that only coffee drinkers can understand. Those of you that prefer to avoid legal addictive stimulants [and truly, I salute you!] will simply have to trust me on this one- there’s just something about opening a brand new, vacuum-sealed bag of coffee that tickles the imagination and causes a piece of you to come alive.
With a sleepily satisfied smile, I opened the cupboard and pulled out a fresh bag of hazelnut crème coffee. To my unspeakable horror, two roaches the size of small kittens promptly fell off of the offending bag and onto the floor, where they scurried about in a frenzied attempt to find somewhere to hide.
Not that they needed to. I was approximately eighteen steps ahead of them, and had already run hollering from the kitchen looking for a place that I could hide.
I would rather die of exposure than deal with a roach.
However, I would rather deal with a roach than miss my morning coffee. Without my first cup of coffee, I find it utterly impossible to laugh, operate heavy machinery or have any discernible personality whatsoever. If you’re a chocolate-swirl, spattering of peppermint pieces, dash of cinnamon, dollop of whipped cream kind of person; you likely view coffee as more of a recreational activity. Now, that’s just fine-but some of us have a genuine, medical need for the stuff if we are to deal with the people around us in a nonviolent manner. And unfortunately, said roaches stood between me and my first pot of coffee-thus, all was not right in Whoville.
I stood hesitantly outside of my kitchen, braving the elements and desperately attempting to work up the gumption to battle the bugs. My un-caffeinated stand-off with the roaches lasted approximately seven excruciating minutes, before my menacing can of Raid and I manned up and determined to rescue my beloved coffee pot-and, by association, my sanity.
Both roaches had, of course, long since escaped-[and are presumably currently snuggled up under a bag of French Vanilla]-and so I made my café au lait in tentative peace, being careful to pick around the dead ants in the sugar bag as I measured out a teaspoon.