Dear Coffee Pot,
I know something is wrong. I really needed you this morning in my quasi sleep-deprived state, and you just made horrible noises and shot hot water all over the counter, never actually into the pot.
What's wrong, baby? Talk to me. We can make this better and go back to our normal, happy relationship.
Is it because I've been using the Keurig at work? I swear, it means nothing to me! It's just a work colleague. Sometimes I need a little help to make it through the day.
Don't be like this. You're still my number one, and I love you. You're the one I come home to every night, and the first thing I want to see in the morning. I love the intoxicating smell of your coffee in my cup first thing in the morning, the warmth as I hold the cup in my hands, the strong, rich taste that hits my tongue.
We can work this out -- I know we can.
When I get home tonight I am going to draw you a nice, hot sink full of dishwater and get you all sparkly clean and good as new. I'll run hot water through you. You don't have to brew anything -- just relax and let the nice, hot water flow through you and let go of whatever is bottled up inside.
Please forgive me and promise to give us another shot. Promise to try and brew that rich nectar of the gods for me in the morning.
I don't know what I would do without you.
If not for me, think of my coworkers, and the poor members of the general public that will have to deal with me in my sorry state without your decadent brew. Those poor people don't deserve to suffer.
I love you. Please don't leave me.