Cup

“Robert, I think you need to clean this mess up … AND now!

“What mess?”

“The coffee pot is black and disgusting and your cup is about to grow legs.”

“Honey you know that’s the way I like it, the sludge keeps the coffee at just the right flavor.”

“If you don’t clean it up I will, and I’ll tell the children to stop buying you a new cup every year.”

The threat was just too much. I was sure I would explode — and just then my little one trotted in to the kitchen.

“Hey buddy, want some breakfast?”

Julie hugged and kissed our little one and blew me a half-hearted kiss as she went out the door to work.

“When I get home that cup had better be clean and the pot too. I am not kidding this time!”

I had about half an hour to get the little man some breakfast, dressed, and ready for the nanny.

Working at home these last few months is proving to be the most difficult time of my life. My wife doesn’t know the stress I’m under trying to keep the bank account above the ‘Mendoza line.’ I try to keep it from her as best I can, but this month the creditors have been ruthless and I fear Julie will find out the worst of it.

I can see the glass pot from my makeshift desk. I can hear it begging out to me for the black tar elixir she so desperate needs. I hear my cup, my sweet gift of a cup begging from deep inside her ceramic molecules for the sweet fulfilling desire of the hot liquid.

Oh, I can’t take it anymore. I grind the beans lovingly as the aroma wafts up and it hits me — I must wash this pot and cup to save my marriage.

How could I be so selfish?

The thick black tar at the bottom of my ceramic cup is nearly one-eighth inch thick now. I stop and think … how could SHE be so selfish. The first sip is fine and my mind is taken over. I’ll wash up later … — Robert Mullins
©2012 Robert Mullins
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