Hopelessly Devoted

I never thought I would develop such a loving and gratifying relationship with my espresso machine.










At the time of gifting, I considered it to be a mere luxury item in terms of dollars, and maybe even a bit odd for a birthday present when I consider the practical side of my personality. I tend to request items like shop vacs and bedspreads, never fine jewelry or any of those other unnecessary extravagances. I was caught off guard.

So after extracting this large beast from the box, I couldn't help but admire its size while discretely comparing it to my totally reliable, but unsightly Mr. Coffee who had earned counter rights to sit near my warm cooktop, relatively smug in his very small space but for the exception of the unfortunate visual of his new chrome bodied big brother who could very well be the cause of his untimely end for usefulness. Forget about the dark, depressing, overcrowded cupboard to live out the rest of his tomorrows, he'd either be boxed up for adoption or discarded entirely.

But, but, but...c'mon, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that espresso machines aren't among the common purchases of the hard working mamas of the middle class who stay up long past midnight correcting papers and planning schedules and waking back up at the crack of dawn to whip all of those sweet little nuts into some kind of orderly chaos. Don't get me wrong. I'm first in line for a Latte when someone else is making it. But this seemed nothing short of self-inflicted abuse when I consider that no one is allowed to utter a sound in my direction until I've had my first swallow of French roasted java. Mr. Coffee had already proved his loyalty over the years for being prompt and efficient when it came to addressing my needs.

Alas, the grueling contest for usefulness began. The spice rack, the toaster, Mr. Coffee, the baking canisters...all had experienced brief acquaintances with the Vita-Mix 5000 Total Nutrition Blender, the coffee grinder, and other less popular appliances who had been whisked off to the confines of my cupboards halfway through the competition from their lack of productivity and star quality. It wasn't looking very promising for Mr. DeLonghi E.S.E. (Easy Serving Espresso) either who had been sitting idle on the surface of my counter top for several weeks.

I only remember that it was a Saturday when I finally turned the intimidating monster on, cursing under my breath that thoughtful gifts like these should come equipped with the required accessories for handicapped operators like myself who don't make 500 espressos every day. And Mr. DeLonghe was sorely lacking in the necessaries: those fancy little cups used by the upper class for measuring so that one did not overindulge her coffee cup with the rich black liquid and ultimately create a situation of serious consequences for her nervous system; basically an all circuit overload that would send me into a cooking and cleaning frenzy of the unnatural kind causing everyone in my household to suffer right along with me. Not to mention the pounding headache that must be endured the following day for lack of the higher dose of caffeine previously administered.

So for caution's sake, Mr. Espresso and I (we're on a first name basis now) took things real slow. After learning how to focus on his strengths, I became quite hopeful that with more practice, we would find a perfect balance that would ultimately lead to a deep and satisfying relationship with one another. Timing really is everything, isn't it? 15 seconds is all it takes for a double. And before long, what was just a casual fling on the weekends blossomed into a life-long commitment between the two of us.

I'm in love with you, Mr. Espresso. You handsome devil.

Did someone say Mr. Coffee? Mr. Coffee who?