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Coffee slop keeps attention off the DC Idiots

October 17, 2013 - Paul Giannamore
Thank God for the slopped cup o’Joe this morning. I can avoid for one more day writing about the lunatic, leadership-lacking goofballs in Washington and why we actually deserve them. (Ahh, got your interest? Maybe Sunday, when I can find some humor in this disaster we used to call the government of the United States of America.)

The Boss bought as a Father’s Day or anniversary gift this year (I love you dear, but I forget which day you gave me this present and I bet you forgot already, too) a beautiful Nissan Thermos coffee mug from Cabella’s, complete with the Cabella’s logo on the side.

This is the absolute greatest coffee cup I’ve ever had, maybe the best in the history of mankind. It has a Thermos screw-down vacuum lid over a stainless-steel body and stainless-steel lined interior. (Feel free to insert your Tim Allen grunts here.) It’s manly mug. (Go ahead. Grunt again.)

It replaced a tall and lovely Starbucks plastic-lined cup that doesn’t fit under our Keurig, cracked after a couple of months of use and generally does not keep coffee very warm. I’ve come back to Mr. Cabella Cup four hours later and burned my tongue on the coffee (so long as I remembered to screw down the lid).

It’s that good.

But there is a snag in Mr. Cabella Cup’s perfect life, and it’s all my fault. He is the first thing I reach for upon getting to the kitchen at This Morning - plus 2 minutes. The coffee stays very hot right through breakfast, the morning news on the radio and reading the national and world news on the iPad.

Mr. Cabella Cup comes to the bathroom sink while I shave. You didn’t think the chrome dome is fully natural, did you? And then, sometimes he stays right there, on the vanity, just below the medicine cabinet and next to The Boss’s curling iron. Or hair flattener. I think it depends on the season, but either way, there is an electrical device of mass hair destruction sitting there.

Or he may come up to the bedroom to be put on the dresser while I get ready for work. Or maybe he’s on that dresser over there. Or down by the backpack.

And a lot of the time he stays wherever I left him in the bedroom, coffee still hot at 5 p.m. when I return and hit myself in the temple and yell, “There you are, buddy!”

Or maybe, just maybe, I remember to take him down to the kitchen and leave him there while fumbling for the keys. Or maybe I take him to the car.

Today, I think I left him on the dresser. I had only taken five sips of really good Italian roast.

About halfway out of Toronto, I reached to the center console and, no Mr. Cabella Cup. But I really, really wanted (needed) coffee. So I stopped at the gas station and got a cup. And got it to the car and plunked it into the center console only to discover I hadn’t secured the lid. Slosh.

The center console filled with aromatic Colombian roast, wiping out a stack of leftover business cards from when I was off on my gym sabbatical, and one Toyota salesman’s card I vowed to keep for next time we go car shopping because he was a good guy who just didn’t come up with a lease when The Boss was car shopping 18 months or so ago.

It did not get to my authentic DiNovo Chrysler-Dodge keyfob that for some reason I keep forgetting to put with my keychain and trinket collection of places I loved that are now gone.

The box of tissues in the back seat came in handy for slopping up all the coffee.

I try to keep the Cruiser interior relatively clean because it was my dad’s. He kept his cars so clean you could eat off the floormats. In winter.

And, six years after his passing still smells of his Lagerfeld when it sits in the sun for a while. Now it might smell of stale gas station coffee.

That’s a loss beyond government to me.


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