I threw a mug of coffee at Kevin this morning.
Now, honestly, “threw” implies a level of planning and intent that I’m typically incapable of at oh-dark-thirty*. In fact, it would be more accurate to say that I was bringing Kevin a mug of coffee when my thumb slipped off the rim, resulting in a caffeinated explosion of java and Splenda all over Kevin, the wall, the carpet and floor,and various books, papers, and what-have-you in the vicinity of our desk.
It was not a pretty sight.
Have you ever had one of those fatalistic split-second insights, where it’s as if you’re outside your body observing and have no control over the events taking place around you? Everything happens in slow motion and although you know what’s about to happen, you can’t change it. The Coffee Incident was one such event. In the freeze-frame moment before my thumb slipped, I had a vivid image of the coffee mug dropping to the floor. I had actually just started to move my other hand to intercept when the mug fell, landing on Kevin’s briefcase and splattering the wall with an indelible mocha stain. (We had planned to do some painting in the living room anyway. Unfortunately, we hadn’t planned to paint that particular wall.)
I’m sitting on the balcony now with a rather high-strung dog lying underfoot, startled by The Coffee Incident (as well as all the evil wind blowing through the apartment!), but my other high-strung boy, Kevin, was able to head off for work only a bit the worse for wear. Once the carpet dries, I can put the living room back together.
Sigh. What a waste of perfectly good coffee.
*I use the term oh-dark-thirty loosely, since in June here dawn comes somewhere around the ungodly hour of 4 AM, so by the time I’m up around 6 it’s a bright sunshiny morning. Oh-dark-thirty in December can often be as late as 8 AM.