This morning I propped myself up in bed and turned on the television for a few relaxing moments of watching the "Today" show before having to succumb to the reality of the day and the fact that I had to go to work. J was in the shower and Mina and I were cuddled up, still in the realms of last night's sleep, when I sneezed an incredibly forceful sneeze. It's that time of year in North Carolina when the pollen is falling and creates unnatural-looking neon yellow patterns on cars and sidewalks. Everyone is congested, everyone talks about the pollen as though nothing else in the world, no news, no tragedies, no natural disasters, but this pollen exists. Well, I, like everyone else, am susceptible to this horrific rite of spring and so the sneezing is no surprise. But this sneeze...I felt certain something had come out. You know, something of the body had been emitted from my nostrils. So I checked around, grimacing, ready to find some disgusting relic of my nasal passages. I didn't find a thing. Nothing. Nothing on the bedspread or pillow or on my body. I decided I just might have been mistaken about what had seemed to be a rather fruitful sneeze. J exited the shower a few minutes later and came to join Mina and I in our early morning love nest. He was watching Katie and Matt rhapsodize about the Michael Jackson child molestation case for only a few moments before he arose, sharply, from the bed, and said, "Something's on my arm," and ran into the bathroom. I hid right down under the covers, immediately aware of the atrocity that had taken place. "I think it's snot!" he shouted, making all the appropriate faces. I hid deeper, under the covers, torn between pretending to be just as befuddled as he, or tell the God awful truth. I decided to come clean. "The snot? Yeah, I think I know where that came from..."

This morning I decided to take action and make us some coffee rather than my normal ritual which is to ask J to make it, thus stroking his ego by telling him that he makes it so much better than I do. Which is true. And also a good way to get someone to make coffee for you. This morning I really didn't do much better than that, though, because as I stood there in my bathrobe I asked J, just one more time, to please show me how he does such a good job of getting it strong enough, but not too strong, my problem when it comes to undertaking this seemingly simple process.

He got all business-like. And cocky.

"We've been over this," he said, but not annoyed - more like, proud, more like "Oh-I'll-show-you-you-unworthy-but-grateful-bottom-dweller. I'll show you my ultimate skills, which you'll never attain, by the way."

First he took the spoon I was holding right out of my hand.

"Not this one." He got another from the drawer. "This one."

He scooped an enormous amount of freshly-ground Verona blend from Starbucks into the spoon.

"That," he explained. "is too much."

Shook a lot back into the tupperware. "That? Too little."

"Just feel it out," he continued, and with that scooped what I now know is the perfect scoop size, Oh knowledgeable mentor!

After the required number of scoops were placed into the filter, he turned on the water.

"Cold water! Cold."

Since he was staring me down I felt the need to reply. "I never use hot," I offered. Reasoning wasn't provided, just the hardcore, definitive process. I was a fortunate spectator to watching God-given talent, THE talent, execute that process.

He showed me his scientific method for measuring the right amount of water, which surprisingly, involved some carefully-placed deviations from the regimen.

"See, about a cup. That's about right. Even if you're off the mark a little. It'll be fine."

After pouring it all in, he shut the lid with a final snap of the wrist. Click.

"Now you plug it in and just hit this button."

"Yeah, I know how to do that part."

"Yeah."

Beyond the normal limits of disgusting

A decent four cups of coffee