200th Post!

To celebrate, I bought some fancy coffee. Christmas Blend - limited edition. Then I went looking for my French press. Which I could not find. Which I then remembered I had given away in Phoenix. Which meant I had no civilised way of creating of my tasty caffeinated beverage. Which meant that I had to go back to the supermarket I was just in and buy a French press (a Bodum, but a cheap one). And schlep back home. To make coffee. With milk and sugar. Except I couldn't, because I was out of milk. Now I know what your thinking: "Ha! he went all the way back to the supermarket yet again to get milk - what a disorganised idiot!" But that's where you would be wrong - I didn't go back to the supermarket, I went to the Co-op down the road, which is much closer and was out of milk (delivery truck was late). So now, this was becoming a test of my tenacity as a man: I am going to slay the wildebeest, I am going to scale the heights of Everest, I am going to drink a cup of coffee with milk! Full fat milk, too; I'm tired of f@#king around with this s#*t. So I drove back to the supermarket, boldly strode (yes, I know that's bad Trekie grammar, but at this point, I'm to fired up to care) up to the milk cooler, got me a full two litres of creamy white joy and threw that bad boy on the black belt of the checkout counter. As luck would have it, I had the same cashier as my previous two excursions of futility; she cast me a glance that belied her bemusement, amusement and mild contempt an my lack of shopping prowess. I whipped off my imaginary state trooper Ray Bans, looked her straight in the eye and said "I have slain the wildebeest. I have scaled Everest. For I have dined on honeydew (melons - I bought some on my first trip; they were on sale, 2 for £2) and I am going to drink the milk of paradise!"

Triumphantly, I took my milk home and added it to my, now tepid, cup of joe.

I looked down at the dead wildebeest at the bottom of the cup and though to myself, "best damn coffee I've ever had."