"this coffee isnt my coffee." exclaimed the half dressed woman who stood displeased by the counter. her hair was frayed and jumbled in what appeared to be some small animal's resting place. "you re-made the coffee, didnt you?" the accusation wasnt so cleverly disguised as a question behind her furrowed brow in the silent air of the morning hours. her lips pursed together as if to say why are you even in my house?
"i'll make another pot, mom. i thought it was from last night." a lie easily seen as such, i've never been good at that kind of thing.
"why bother? im leaving in ten minutes. i had a cup of the other coffee and it was so good." she sipped the side of the heart covered mug then wrenched her face in disgust, "i guess i'll just drink this."
"im sorry, i can make another pot in no time mother." i said pulling the coffee maker towards the end of the counter.
"i dont want another pot child. i want the old pot, but it's not here anymore, is it?"
"obviously not mother, but it could be."
"no it cant. my coffee is probably half way to tahiti by now in that drain"
"i dont think drains lead to tahiti."
"i dont think all the cords are correctly situated in your brain."
"sounds pretty serious."
she turned on her heel and scuffled to her room, disgruntled and mumbling about my bad taste in coffee and planning how to incorporated this into her daily gossip fest at work. postal workers are professional counselors when it comes to birds returning to the nest.
"i'll make another pot, mom. i thought it was from last night." a lie easily seen as such, i've never been good at that kind of thing.
"why bother? im leaving in ten minutes. i had a cup of the other coffee and it was so good." she sipped the side of the heart covered mug then wrenched her face in disgust, "i guess i'll just drink this."
"im sorry, i can make another pot in no time mother." i said pulling the coffee maker towards the end of the counter.
"i dont want another pot child. i want the old pot, but it's not here anymore, is it?"
"obviously not mother, but it could be."
"no it cant. my coffee is probably half way to tahiti by now in that drain"
"i dont think drains lead to tahiti."
"i dont think all the cords are correctly situated in your brain."
"sounds pretty serious."
she turned on her heel and scuffled to her room, disgruntled and mumbling about my bad taste in coffee and planning how to incorporated this into her daily gossip fest at work. postal workers are professional counselors when it comes to birds returning to the nest.