I flipped the "on" button, but nothing happened.
So I did it again, this time with all the 4 a.m. conviction I could muster.
Still, the coffee pot stood silent, no water gurgling to transform H20 into my sweet-smelling must-have morning nectar.
I squinted, snarled and swore.
"Fuddy-pudd!!" I muttered to myself as I considered three options:
Hurry up and get to work where there definitely will be coffee freshly brewed;
Make a cup of tea, something I only drink when I feel sick; or
Scrounge around in the basement for a spare coffeepot I assumed we had kept because it actually still worked.
Who keeps a Mr. Coffee Pot that doesn't work, right?
I opted for the latter, only to discover after all the invested effort that it must have been the evil twin of the first coffeepot, both of them conspiring to be on strike and keep my caffeine level at the dangerous zero mark.
So this was how the day went - not all good, but not all bad - a day like many others.
I had awakened extra early to play catch-up, but that didn't work out so hot, thanks to no at-home coffee to give me that little boost to get jumpstarted.
My hair didn't work out too hot either, courtesy of a classic case of flat hair, which is akin to hat head. They're kissing cousins. But I don't wear hats.
I just have these overnight, all-of-sudden episodes of flat hair.
A good do one day suddenly becomes a desperate I-need-a- haircut kind of situation the next day.
Of course, that remedy doesn't always come to fruition as quickly as I'd like it to since my hair magician Brenda isn't always available at my beck and call.
On this day that began with no coffee and flat hair in need of a trim, I figured at least that I'd stick to my healthy eating guns, content with my morning meal of sugar-free oatmeal and low-fat yogurt.
Then co-worker Esther McCoy arrived in the office, bearing a peanut butter pie, chocolate shavings sprinkled on top.
"Have a piece," the food editor temptress suggested.
Another co-worker watching her calories already was caving, a knife in hand to begin the slicing.
I grumbled a little, whined that I didn't want to.
"Tomorrow is National Pie Day," Esther mentioned in a voice of reason rationalizing kind of way.
National Pie Day.
Gee, I reconsidered in my brain hiding under that head of flat hair.
Who am I to ruin a holiday?
So I had a slice, a so-so sized slice that more than canceled out the sugar-free oatmeal and the low-fat yogurt.
But it was good. Very good.
Later in the day, Better Half and I bought a new coffee pot.
And that surely is "grounds" for better mornings to come.
(Kiaski, a resident of Steubenville, is a staff columnist and features writer for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times and community editor for the Herald-Star. She can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.)