It was the perfect romance.
He was a little bit country, she a little bit rock and roll. What he lacked in zest, she made up for in punch and enthusiasm, whilst his cool temperament kept her from being overbearing and a little too hot to handle.
They made me smile every time I saw them. And not one of those ‘oh aren’t they a cute couple’ type smiles, but a real, deep inner happiness that bubbled up out of me with reckless abandon. These two together, were what life was all about. They were the epitome of perfection.
I’m not entirely sure what happened.
Everything seemed fine; they were going along happily with their life, and no one could tell something was up, but clearly it was. Because one day, he just gave up completely. Threw himself into a big tub of soapy water, and then forced the main power switch to turn off, when he was plugged in.
And it’s at this point in the story that I tell you that ‘he’ was one of those awesome milk frothing machines, and ‘she’ was a coffee machine.
To say that I was devastated by their shock breakup was an understatement. Together those two had got me through some rough times, some tough times, some good times, and some fantastic times.
They had been there for Christmas morning breakfasts, before the bubbly was broken out.
They were there for me when Boatman was in Bing Bong and I could barely sleep.
They were there when the house was being packed up, before being lovingly packed up in the shipping container.
Through entertaining, blog posts, and many early morning Bible readings, it was me and a great cup of pod coffee thanks to that perfect match.
I wish I could have saved them…..
Alas it wasn’t to be, and so I did the right thing. I let the coffee machine grieve. I didn’t want to push a new frother on her too soon; it would have been wrong. (Also I couldn’t afford it. 😉 )
But after a few months of warming milk in the microwave before adding my freshly brewed caffeine hit, it was time to move on. And on Mother’s Day, we introduced the coffee machine to a new frother.
It seemed like it would work; I mean what could go wrong really? He wasn’t exactly the same, but he was good company. And they could sit next to each other on the bench and dream about making perfect coffee, just like it used to be. I was only trying to make her happy.
It was a bit of a bumpy start though. He just couldn’t get his froth mechanism right; it was neither warm nor particularly foamy. For several days I tried to make them sort it out, and it just wasn’t happening. They weren’t happy together, and frankly neither was I. His cold, flat attitude to coffee-making was not ok.
I was going to ask him to leave, and I had my speech worked out; ‘it’s not us, it’s you.’ I was discussing the whole problem with my MIL, and he must have overheard me, because he begged for a second chance. ‘I’ll try counselling,’ he said! ‘Just read my manual and you will see I can be a better frother.’ And so being the romantic that I am, and hoping for the perfect match between he and her, I did what he asked, and read the manual. And with the press of a button I never knew there was, suddenly, there was perfectly frothy coffee once again.
I think, sadly, it was too much for her.
She tried to move on, I really believe she did.
She made two really great coffees before ‘it’ happened, and even now I’m not sure exactly what ‘it’ was. But it was the end of her.Working one minute, not working the next.
Just like that, she passed on to the great cafe in the sky.
I think it was the guilt that got to her. She was faithful to her milk frother and she couldn’t abide her betrayal with the new man. Like some kind of Romeo and Juliet story, they were fated to die their respective electronic deaths. Together on the kitchen bench in life.
And on the trash heap in death.
It was a sad day the day the coffee machine left us. I shed a tear and thanked her for all she had done, savouring every last drop of her last offering, by begging Boatman to let me drink his coffee.
When it comes to coffee, I’m not a complete snob, but let’s face it, no one chooses instant if they don’t have to. It seemed however, that this would be my fate, and I looked sadly at my new frother as I informed him that it would now be him and a jar of nescafe.
It was the worst of times.
By some miracle, even Boatman was repulsed by this idea, and, by a rare stroke of luck, or perhaps the knowing mark of Cupid’s bow, a cheap replacement machine was acquired in due haste.
Timidly, I introduced my new coffee machine to my still relatively new frother, and any fears I had were quickly laid to rest.
Some say that when it comes to meeting your true love, you just know.
And these two?
Well they knew.
And so endeth this tale of woe, all bittersweet. The end of one great romance marks the beginning of another, and just like that we learn that coffee, like love, always finds a way.