It’s not me, it’s you.

coffee

Dear old shag-yellow aluminum coffee urn,

I know you thought we had something special when I rescued you from the porch of the abandoned ranch house at the VX.  You were hurting when we found each other; I know your original owners just… abandoned you.  Just… left you in the porch and never looked back.

I was thrilled there wasn’t a mouse nest in your basket, and that’s when I knew we had to give this thing a shot.  I thought we had a really good chance at a future together.  I envisioned you on my counter, casting that 1970s vibe of yours, conveniently providing an endless stream of hot, delicious coffee for the cowboys in our life.

And when I moved, I wanted you to come, too.  I gave you a prominent spot in the kitchen, and I faithfully fed you grounds and fresh water.  You and I have made a lot of coffee together in the last few months.  And I have to say, you never didn’t do what I asked you to do.  When the crew shuffled through the door with spurs a-jinglin’, you were always hot and ready.

Still.  Somewhere along the line I let a little doubt sneak into our relationship, and I just couldn’t put it out of my mind.  I’ve tried to ignore it.  I kept thinking this thing would get better if only we made more cups together.

But I’m at a good place finally, and the other day as I served BBQ meatballs and chocolate chip cookies to the crew I had this realization:

Your coffee will always taste like the porch of the abandoned ranch house at the VX.

I’ve never been a quitter.  But I don’t even want to try anymore.  I’m tired of feeling insecure about the quality of coffee coming out of my kitchen.  And you, shag-yellow urn, are not going to get me to where I need to be in life.

I know we’ve always made fun of the so-cliche drip-and-filter coffee makers that every ol’ dummy out there has on her counter.  But… I have one now too.  And I think it’s a good thing.  His coffee tastes like what I think coffee should taste like.

There’s no place for you here now.  So that’s why you’re outside.  It’s not that I’m saying there’s nobody out there who could love you.  But I don’t think too many gals would try as hard as I have.  I hope you can understand.  I hope you can be happy for me.  We both really tried.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

Fondly,

Your Last Stop on the Way to the Dump

© Tami Blake

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