I’m a creature of habit. I have my routines and my way own peculiar way of doing things. I’d like to say I’m the kind of guy who can “roll with it,” as things come along. I’d like to say that – but that wouldn’t be true. Maybe, I used to be that guy, but not anymore. I find that the older get, the more I need – no – require, my routines to keep me from wandering out in traffic.
Each and every morning, I celebrate the dark roasted miracle of coffee. Once I finish that first cup, the sun may shine and birds have permission to sing. Until then, all bets are off and the birds best stay hidden in their little twiggy nests. The quality of the entire day hinges on the aroma wafting up from my coffee mug and the caffeinated goodness therein.
(note to self: if you put a post together on the Ritual Of The First Cup, men in white jackets will come carrying a really tight jacket with long sleeves that buckle in the back)
So, I’m soaking in the deep roasted flavor from a local coffee roaster, breathing in the aroma, deep into my lungs, and I take that last sip…
HERE COMES THE WTF MOMENT
Something is in the bottom of my cup. Not coffee grounds, or a partially ground roasted bean. In the shallows lay a huge black fly. A big ugly, Jeff Goldblum looking fly. I expected a “Help me,” whispering up from the black form.
This trespasser wasn’t a recently deceased critter, one who took a wrong turn and crash landed in my cup. In that scenario, the offending fly would float like a witch in Salem, flick a wing and go belly up on the surface. This demon-fly had been on the bottom for a while, stewing.
I put up imaginary miniature orange cones and crime scene tape around my cup and knew this was a deliberate attack on my morning ritual, a purposeful attempt to screw with me. By this time, I could taste fly in the back of my throat. WTF. It tasted fine until I saw the damn thing!
The rest of my day was thrown into chaos and disarray – all from a fly.
WTF: Where’d The Fly come from? The investigation continues…