I was raised to be independent. To figure out how to do whatever it is that I want to do. And I’d like to think that I’ve succeeded, in general. I mean, I don’t think there are many things at which I am a complete, utter failure. Except one.
I cannot make coffee.
This comes as a surprise to some of y’all, I know. I am a decent cook. I can bake. I can clip a wiggly toddler’s fingernails. I can spot a grammar or punctuation error from a mile away. I can mow the lawn. I can butcher a deer quarter. I’ve even driven a Formula One car. But make coffee? Miserable, utter failure.
I’m not talking about using a Keurig. Because that doesn’t really count as “making coffee,” really. I mean with a real coffee pot. It’s not that difficult, in theory. You put the coffee grounds in, pour in water, and turn the thing on. Easy, right? Apparently not.
I actually discovered this phenomenon several years ago, but Husband didn’t believe me. He thought I messed it up on purpose just so I would have an excuse not to make coffee for him (I don’t drink coffee). Why in the world would I mess up something that stupid on purpose?
So for years now, we’ve lived under the rule that Husband is the maker of coffee in our house. And I’ve kinda liked it that way.
There came a day recently when I had to make coffee. Our LifeGroup meets at our house each week – and they like coffee. Husband was out of town, so I thought I’d go ahead and get things ready early in the afternoon so I didn’t have to rush.
Now, we have a nice coffee maker/pot that will grind beans and the whole shebang. I cleaned it, made sure I measured properly, and got everything ready. I even texted him to make sure I knew how to set the timer so it would start brewing while I was getting the kids settled.
And I thought everything was going well. When Cristina arrived, she smelled the coffee and we checked it, but it wasn’t finished brewing yet. A few minutes later, we went back with the intention of pouring coffee, and, well…the coffee had already been poured. All over the counter.
Somehow, the thing was overflowing. But the pot wasn’t full. That still didn’t keep coffee and grounds from pouring all over the kitchen counter. And the coffee that was there? It was thick. And crunchy.
Only I could make crunchy coffee.
Our sweet friends in our LifeGroup were gracious, though. They drank the coffee, even though I told them I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t. It might also speak to how desperate you get for caffeine when you have young children at home. But mostly how nice they are.
To my credit, the next time Husband made coffee, it made a bit of a mess. So I felt a little bit vindicated that I’m not a complete coffee-making moron. He even tried to get me to come “learn” how to make coffee.
No. Not gonna happen.
It’s how it should be. I don’t make coffee. If it happens that Husband is absent from LifeGroup again, I’ll wait until someone else arrives and let them make coffee.
A girl shouldn’t have to know how to do everything.