The Keurig is on the fritz. It’s not completely broken. In a strange, yet not altogether surprising turn of events, it works for me. It’s Fang, the much more enthusiastic coffee drinker, who is unable to get Mrs. K to dispense properly, if at all.
I alone seem to have the “magic touch”. Now, whenever Fang gets a hankering for one of his many cups of Joe, I’m the one who has to make it. If I hadn’t witnessed the positively freakish favoritism being showered upon me by an inanimate object, I would be convinced that Fang had just made the whole thing up. You know, so that I could fetch more things for him.
I have a theory about why Mrs. K isn’t working for Fang. And, yes, my Keurig is female. I know this because she is sensitive, willful, and vindictive. We first noticed that she was beginning to exhibit “skitchy” behavior — intermittent strange groaning noises, brewing too little or too much coffee, and, on a few occasions, just plain shutting off — around the holidays.
Fang’s immediate reaction was that the “freakin’ thing was old and on it’s way out” and that we should begin to at least think about “getting one of those newer, fancier models”. He engaged in this trash-talk right in front of her! I took no small amount of offense at what seemed a betrayal of the “miracle machine” that he had, not that long ago, been so enamored with.
I am not exaggerating when I tell you that Fang had a slight crush on Mrs. K when she first entered our lives. No doubt he appreciated her speed, her efficiency, and, of course, her curves. (The very same qualities I would like to think he appreciates in me!) On at least one occasion I swore that he was fondling her. I wasn’t jealous, though. Competing for Fang’s affections with an appliance didn’t bother me in the least. It helped that this particular appliance provided me with the product that, quite frankly, makes it possible for me to go out into the world every morning without killing someone.
Given that I, too, have a soft spot for Mrs. K, it’s not surprising that I took her imminent demise to heart. Uncharacteristically, though, I found myself taking my husband’s cavalier attitude toward her very personally — as if he had said that it was me who was “old” and “on [my] way out”. I know that he neither said nor intimated any such thing, but I couldn’t help the resentment I felt when he began “checking out” the newer models at the Target.
In the face of his clear intention to replace the old gal, I dug in my heels. I decided to try to nurse her back to health. I put her on a regular descaling regimen and fed her only premium blends —- the darkest, most delicious roasts, from deepest Africa or the highlands of Hawaii. And it worked. She rebounded.
At least that’s what I told myself. I fear that it wasn’t so much a recovery, as it was a remission. This happens sometimes in cases of terminal illness. Given that she had become a kindred spirit, I’d been treating her as any kind, nurturing woman would — I babied her and, on occasion, could be heard murmuring encouragement. (“You can do it!” “I know you’ve got one more good cup in ya!” “Come on, girl! Do it for me!”) It’s no more than any good caretaker would do.
I have not been the one discussing her replacement or waving Bed, Bath and Beyond flyers with PICTURES (!) of the latest K-cup brewers around in front of her! I’m not in denial. I know her days are numbered. I understand that it’s only a matter of time before she’s kaput, but I want to have her understudy waiting in the wings before she drips her last drop. I find Fang’s behavior counterproductive.
I swear that because I have treated her with kindness and respect, she has continued to work for me. She has recognized my efforts and has responded in kind. If she catches on that I’m using her to make Fang’s coffee or susses out my plan to hide the newer model under the sink, I’m sure she’ll just up and refuse to do my bidding. So, keep it under your hats, will ya? I just need to get through Fangette’s birthday and then I’ll have enough money to afford a new machine. Did you know that the new models come in different colors? Maybe I’ll call her “Red”!