The Coffee Pot

Rico listened as the coffee pot puffed and huffed. Water heated and ran through the intricate system that made modern life possible. He loved that sound.

As the coffee pot went about its work, Rico sat at his computer and prepared to do his work.  Code, formatting, pictures and content would rule his day.  His days had been long and rough lately.  Shifting priorities and unwavering deadlines collided to make the new year one he wanted over already.  He opened the score of programs he would have to use and begged the coffee pot to finish its work.  He hated being up before the sun.

Tired, he checked his email and saw far too many things he did not to be included on.  He mumbled.

The coffee pot clicked.  The brew was done.  If he could have, Rico would have leaped to the air, clicked his heels together and screamed, “woohoo” to the sky above.  But he could not.  No coffee and all that.  Instead he rose from his seat, and meandered to the coffee pot.  He filled his mug while staring at his phone.  The glowing rectangle kept him awake.  Content he had enough in the mug, he walked back to his desk.

At long last, a whole 30 minutes after waking up, coffee was in hand.  With what energy he had, he raised the mug to his lips and felt complete disappointment as he tasted what had filled his cup.

He smacked his lips, disgusted.

“Forgot the beans,” he said.  He pushed away from his desk and restarted the process.

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Not on the Activities List

The dinner table was set, food plated and the family looking forward to another meal together.  Forks clattered as they twirled spaghetti round and round and conversation began to swirl.

“Winter is coming up pretty quick.  We should start thinking about indoor activities to fill the day,” mother said to father.

“Do you have anything in mind?”

“Board games are always good.”

“Mom, we could try juggling knives,” chimed in the high pitched voice of the couple’s five year old son.

“Probably not, but good brainstorming, kiddo,” the father replied.

“I’ll go hide everything sharp,” the mother left the table.

New Street Signs

 

“What the crap is this?” Jago asked.

“The pedicab sign?” Jo needed clarification.

Jago sighed.  He knew his old stomping grounds had changed, but the pedicab sign changed confirmed his fears.  “You remember growing up around here?  Signs were all about no skateboarding, no loitering, no this and no that.”

“Pedicab is progress then, right?” Jo pondered. Continue reading

The Fatal Flaw of Candle Shopping

“Ashes, Ashes we all Fall Harvest,” Lilly read the label of the candle in a Ball jar, “bit dark, but it smells nice.”

“Hey, come check this one out, ‘In the cold November Rain‘,” Ivan called over, “it smells like rain and wet top hat!”

“This place has some neat options; Cumin feel the noise,  Why is Cucumber on a salad(?!), Newspaper will soon be in a museum,  Remember when you were 12 and and playing soccer and slipped and sliced your leg open playing on Fresh Cut Grass, For some reason people like the smell of Licorice,” Lilly listed off the candles already in the shopping basket.

“Does cucumber actually have a smell?” Ivan asked.

“It smells like green water,” Lilly answered.

“I have no frame of reference for the analogy,” Ivan added ‘Only you can prevent Wild Fire’ to the basket.

“I don’t have a better answer.  We’ll light this on fire, it’ll smell good,” Lilly said.

“It’ll smell like whatever they want us to think cucumber smells like,” Ivan muttered.

 

 

 

Boom! The candle shopping experience! Nailed it.
Thanks for reading.

(Cucumber is a lie)

Getting Older (in 100 Words)

Baxter stared at the ceiling.  He pressed his right hand, balled into a fist, against his chest and took repeated deep breaths.

“You okay?” His roommate asked, hearing the sounds of obvious discomfort.

“You know what they need to talk more about in school?  Or at least before you’re 30?” Baxter questioned.

“What’s that?” the roommate asked.

“How one day you suddenly have to worry about sodium content and chicken flavored ramen will cause murderous heart burn,” Baxter lamented aging

“It comes on sudden, I’ll give you that,” the roommate tossed a recently purchased bottle of Tums to the bed. “enjoy!”

Making the Bed (in 100 words)

“This is it.  This is how I die.  What a fitting end.  Ha! Ugh, no one around to hear that one,” I say aloud.

“Are you stuck in the sheet?” my wife asks as she enters the room.

“These fitted sheets are out to destroy me,” I respond from within the confines of a fitted sheet.  The sheet won the battle before it even started. As I lay on the bed with my body inside the elastic deathtrap I seriously reconsider some life choices that have brought me to this point.

“Stand up. I’ll take care of it,” she says.