It was just after 8 o-clock in the morning, and one of the movers was methodically surveying our kitchen; opening the cabinets and scanning the counters with a stern look on his face. He was quickly discovering that he had drawn the short straw, designated with packing up the kitchen, pantry and my dishware and prop collection.
“Y’all have three coffee machines?”
I glanced at the counter, then back at him, blushing slightly… He hadn’t discovered the french press or the porcelain pour-over Melitta cup in the cupboard above yet.
“I have a thing for coffee,” I replied, flashing him a smile and silently saying goodbye to all five coffee makers for the next few weeks.
He nodded, but looked unimpressed, no doubt distracted by the sheer volume of kitchen equipment and gadgetry he was about to pack, so I didn’t explain that each one was different: there was the standard coffee machine, the little workhorse of an espresso machine, and the hybrid (and brand spanking new addition to the family).