Okay, maybe we should rewind to Friday AM when I knew, just knew, something was wrong, just not how wrong. The fact that I was picking coffee beans out of my hair should have been a major clue that all was not well in Tactlessville.
No, Andy and I did not get into a coffee bean flinging argument. He's still in Cali. The rule of your stuff getting broken when you are out of town, however, was indeed followed. Andy's coffee grinder (scroll to bottom/last one on the list): R.I.P.
The motor works FINE. Two mornings straight sweeping up coffee beans and combing chunks of ground coffee out of my hair tells me so. Operationally, the thing went psycho on me wanting to grind the coffee as soon as you poured in the beans! Too many years of coffee grounds had managed to clog the little hole where the lid's press down button activated the motor and at the slightest touch ANYWHERE, it was ON!
Being me? (Remember my sewing machine adventure?) I went for my screwdriver. Do you have ANY idea how much old gross ground coffee can collect on the inside of a grinder? Especially one that is literally being held together by electrical tape under it's fancy trappings?!?! I wish I were joking. The workmanship was reminiscent of childhood experiments with all of my dad's old batteries and motors and wires and bits and pieces from under the house.
After confirming with Andy that this was not a cherished possession, cuz you know if it had been I'd probably be putting the finishing touches by now, I headed out to find a replacement.
I'm very much a "you broke it, you bought it" kind of person in these living situations, so I guess Andy's getting a coffee grinder for his birthday.
What I thought would be a quick trip to the world renowned European adventure that is Tar-jey, turned into an all day trek from cheap-y department to specialty to not-so-cheap department stores in the Northgate/Uni-district area. Have you any idea just how many kinds of grinders are out there now?
Mostly though it was an exercise in not getting something as horrifically made as what had just died, without spending a mint. I know, don't laugh, I did it, though.
In between fits of anger and utter disbelief at the crap out there, I sat and knit some at the Zombie socks. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, it was in the 60s! Had I a camera with me, you too could see the sock sitting with me on the bronze cow statue in University Village, draped oh so sexily in a bed display in Crate & Barrel, playing hide and seek behind the overpriced, but REALLY COOL measuring spoons in Williams Sonoma (mini pots!), and of course, seeing as I was coffee-less and there are at least 2 of them in the University Village Shopping mall-thing, there would be one of one of the sock legs playing hot coffee sleeve at Starbucks.
I cannot complain, I got to do a whole bunch of kitchen window shopping--there is something about pink kitchen appliances that both repel and attract me...I had no idea. Do you think this is the same feeling our (my) parents got when seeing the powder blue and avocado green of their era?
Oh, and something that freaked me out:
So I'm waiting for my elixir of life at the aforementioned coffee store, perusing their grinders (EXACT SAME model as the broken one on the kitchen counter) when I look up and there is a chalkboard where, under some statement of quality of service, yadda yadda, all the baristas have signed their names. Staring at me near dead center is my X's first name...written the way he does almost exactly.
"Tall Mocha with whip for Tactless*"HUGE sigh of relief.
"Thank you. By the way, do you happen to know if Jack** is left-handed?" I said pointing to the board behind her.
She turns, repeating the question to herself. "Yes, actually, he is." Look of confusion on her face. "Do you know Jack?"
I smile, "I hope not, it's just, he signs his first name the way my Xhusband does, especially the 'J.' He's left handed, but in Florida, I hope."
"Jack is just out of high school."
Happy Easter/Bunny Day/Egg-dye-or-ramma/religious observance of your choice_____
*Name changed to protect the um, ha ha ha, innocent.
**Nope, not his name either, but close.