Keurig, look, I'm trying to be nice.
I'm trying not to pick a fight.
But it's seven a.m.
I want coffee.
No I need coffee.
And you're totally holding out on me. It's too early and I'm too crabby to cajole and coerce so, really...what's your problem????
Seriously, is all the attitude necessary?
I take care of you. I follow your instructions as best as I know how. I do what I'm told, when I'm told. I give you love and respect and hey, I even talk you up to my friends. Last week I was singing your praises to a total stranger in line at the grocery store.
I don't know what else to do to prove I love and need you. When did we lose that specialness? That certain something we shared? The quiet mornings when I curled my hands around you and snuggled close, you warming me from the inside out. Why has our relationship has become so one way?
I give and I give and I give. And what do I get back?
I mean sure, you act like you're going to give back. I'm convinced of it as I hear the brewing noises, those sweet little sounds you make that tell me you love me too. And then... Dribbles. A splash. Brown mud in the bottom of my cup.
What's up with that?
I'm not gonna lie. There's only so much I can take. I'm only human Keurig. And I have needs. You can shut me off for only so long before I can't bear it anymore.
I know where I can get coffee and I'm not afraid to go there. Dunkins, unlike you, is always there for me. Twenty four seven.
Tell you what, why don't you stick that in your pot and boil it for a while then we'll see who's left with an empty cup.