The silverware drawer was full of coffee. The odds and ends at home in this niche were swimming in the cold, brown liquid. The automatic feature of my coffee maker is a marvel dreamed up by the angels themselves. The instant gratification of pouring a steaming mug the moment my bleary eyes and shuffling footsteps can get me to the kitchen is pure, unadulterated bliss. But when the carafe doesn’t get emptied before the lovely little machine begins brewing its fragrant morning nectar, my coffee receptacle overfloweth.
My husband had forgotten to empty the carafe the night before. Again. Normally the mess is contained to the counter top; a nuisance to be sure, but not too terribly inconvenient. This time, however, the excess liquid had found its way straight into the drawer, creating a monstrous mess.