Coffee

Andrea made muffins again on the weekend. They’re good—she’s getting very good at making muffins.

That might seem like an isolated fact, but bear with me, I’m going somewhere with this.

After my experiment on Friday, trying to drink more water, I wasn’t sure if I would carry the experiment on today, or if I would give it up. To do it properly, of course, I’d probably have to give up coffee, too, because I believe coffee dehydrates you. But I wasn’t sure if I could do it.

Don’t yet see the connection? Read on…

On my way in to the office, this morning, I was eating one of Andrea’s muffins, and a piece fell off, and landed between my legs. I didn’t think much of it, but when I got to the office, I looked down, and saw that there was a big brown mark on the seat below me. Apparently it was a fairly big piece of muffin. And then I looked closer at the location of the stain, did some mental calculations, and started to worry. It was in a bad place.

So when I got upstairs, I stopped by the men’s room, which, luckily, has a big full-length mirror, and confirmed my worst fears: There is a stain on my pants, in a bad place.

So this is where the coffee comes in: There’s no way I’m going downstairs to Tim Horton’s today, looking like I’ve soiled myself.