No Cup o' Joe

This morning I thought to myself, "I have been good. I have broken the addiction. I would like a cup of coffee at work." I validated this through Boyfriend, who only wants to see me happy and knows that I have already cut out countless cups of coffee, and who therefore said to go ahead and enjoy it.

I got to work and started making coffee - something I never do in feminist revolt of the fact that I am often asked to, which is not in my job description - and... I dropped the coffee-filter-part-of-the-machine- whatever in the garbage. Now, this is not the kind of garbage you or I might have in our kitchens. This thing comes up to my chest and has a humongous lock-on lid. So as I am struggling with the lid, unable to get it off, looking like I'm practically humping the garbage, one of our execs walks in.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Oh, fine, I just....*groan*... dropped something into the garbage, hee hee."

He walks over and tries to help me pry off the lid, to no avail. He takes out his pocket knife and, in a matter of seconds, opens it up for me. I thank him and fish out the filter, ashamed that he is now going to see that I have thoroughly contaminated everyone's coffee machine. I start scrubbing it with soap, partly because I am skeeved but also partly for show, and he says, "You don't drink coffee, do you?"

This question surprises me because up until about a week ago, I drank it every morning, sometimes two cups.

(I fade into the background most of the time. It's my own fault and in some ways my pleasure.)

"Well... I'm trying to give it up," I respond. "Good for you," he says, and takes his leave.

Now I am able to make the coffee but too ashamed to drink it.

I sit before you with a cup of tea and no regrets. Either the gods were against it, or I am just a spaz who doesn't deserve coffee in the first place.