The husband: Crap. The coffee grinder broke.
Me: Awww. And it’s Monday. How mean.
The husband: We could Civil War it.
Me: Go outside barefoot and make “coffee” out of dirt and wet leaves?
The husband: No, a sock, the beans, and a hammer.
Me: Ohhhh. Or a plastic bag?
The husband: Or the burr grinder we have!
Me: Or we could chew the beans and spit them into the filter! We’re the only ones drinking it!
The husband: Or the burr grinder we have.
And so our normal three-minute coffee pot routine turned into twenty minutes of problem solving and team work. And by team work I mean the husband made the coffee while I got dressed and then helped him drink the pot.
No word from Company Z after I turned in my editorial test last week. I’m beginning the early stages of Operation Hire Me Or I’ll Write Scathing Editorials About You Under Assumed Names with another potential lead. There is a third option (not like the first two are quite options yet) but the next step with them requires a scanner and an hour of my time during the work day, and since I have a job that I’d really like to keep until the last possible minute, I’m not sure how to respond to such a tempting offer.
Over the weekend I chased a baby pygmy goat down the driveway,* was mistaken for a college student (twice), and left a load of laundry on the line during a storm. I think this was a series of events God used to remind me not to take myself too seriously, especially since that tiny goat nearly made a clean getaway.
<please imagine a picture of a baby pygmy goat here since I don’t really know the rules for using pictures I find online and I don’t want to get sued over a goat photo>
*The baby pygmy goats were so new that they still had umbilical cords. So picking up a goat that was soft-like-a-puppy on the top and had, um, extras, underneath was a unique experience. I would really rather not touch something like that again.