This weeks story is about the infamous coffee maker of doom. Oh, how it plagues me. Not only do I loath the smell of coffee and really anything to do with it, but my husband loves it and has to have his morning fix. Of course, this is a normal thing among most households, but I am not normal.
On the fateful morning in question, our french press had mysteriously ended up in the bottom of the sink with a crack spanning from top to bottom. I may or may not have known how it ended up there, but I won't admit to anything incriminating.
My husband, sweet thing that he is, decided that he absolutely had to have a new coffee maker with a stainless steel pot. God forbid it was a glass pot, oh no. Stainless steel was the only way to go.
"They break too easily," He said.
"Fine. You can have a stainless steel pot, but it has to fit under the cabinet." I replied.
My husband disappeared for a few seconds, only to come back with a tape measure in hand and a grin on his face. He had to make sure the exact coffee maker he wanted would fit under the cabinet. You see, there is only one place in the kitchen for this coffee maker to go, and the cabinet that it must fit under was only fourteen inches above the counter. There wasn't much that could fit under there, but a toaster and the occasional crock pot.
Minutes later, we were walking down the isles of Bi-Mart, and if you have never experienced a Bi-Mart, you are not missing much. There is a musty old person smell to everything and the terribly lit isles make you feel like you're in a horror story, but the deals are a steal, so who can complaine.
There were many coffee makers down the isle in question. All of them had glass pots except for the one my husband had been looking at for months.
"This is the one I want." He picked up the box that looked quite tall and proceeded to read every little detail about the product inside the cardboard container.
I was browsing the display coffee makers and I noticed one small detail about the particular maker in question. "It look too tall."
"It will fit."
I gave my husband a side long glance. "Are you sure?"
At this point, my husband had disappeared again, only to return with a tape measure from the isle over and a grin on his face. He measured. "Its fourteen inches. It will fit."
I wasn't convinced, but then again, what did I know about measuring things. I was just a woman after all.
Within a span of about a half hour, we had gone to the store and come home with a brand spanking new stainless steel, overpriced, tall ass, coffee maker. Ugh. Did I mention how much I hate coffee?
Anyway, the maker was quickly unpacked, the counter cleaned for this precious piece of equipment to be placed and guess what?... The thing was too tall. Who called it? That's right, me.
We needed about another half an inch. We tried everything. Would it fit on another counter? Nope, not enough space. Could we put it in the back room by the laundry? Nope, then my husband wouldn't be near enough to the coffee makings, even though it was only feet away, plus, who wants to look at dirty undies while trying to enjoy a fresh cup of Joe. The consensus was, either take the damn thing back, or raise the cabinets.
I voted for taking the maker back by the way, but I guess my vote doesn't count since I don't actually drink coffee, weird.
The solution to our problem was to remove everything from the cabinets, clean off the entire counters, remove the cabinets from the wall and raise them two inches to accommodate the coffee maker. This is not an easy task, and keep in mind that it wouldn't be just the one cabinet. The cabinet on the other side of the window had to match, so it was going to get a face lift as well. Not to mention that the collection on beer growlers had to be removed from the top of the cabinets. That required climbing a ladder... See what I'm getting at?
An hour later and a few arguments shared between my husband and I about the best way to rearrange the Kitchen, coffee was on. The aroma of burnt beans filled the air as the sound of water dripping through a piece of paper met my ears, oh boy did it make me have to pee.
Not only did it take us two hours to make a cup of coffee, I had to spend the only day that I get during the week to sit on my butt and do nothing, reorganizing my kitchen.
Really, this story could have been told to you like this. I broke the french press, so my husband bought a new coffee maker that was too tall for the space between the cabinet and the counter, so we raised the cabinet and now the coffee maker fits, but what fun would that be....
Welcome to the Crazy Eight!