Martha yawned, stretching her arms as she sat up in bed and tried not to wake her husband, who’s gotten distinctively grumpier in his old age. She stood and shuffled over to the door, down the creaky stairs and into the kitchen. Blinking through the oblivion of a fog filled head, she pushed the little black button.
This button was simply the wonder and gift of her life. According to Martha, it was truly the greatest invention of man and her only necessity in life, except for dark chocolate with the girls on Sunday, but she wouldn’t talk about such things. Alfred isn’t supposed to know. Besides she was on a diet.
Damn, she hated diets. She wished she could stab all those skinny bastards with their white coats and PhDs. Then how would they feel. “Just money hungry bastards,” she grumbled to herself.
The machine steamed and popped inviting a wonderfully rich aroma of beans. “Aaaahh,” she exclaimed with exultation. Smacking her chops, she shuffled to the cabinet and produced a mixing bowl. Silence called to her from the steaming machine much like the beauty of the Siren’s song so tempting and pleasing.
Being utterly seduced, she shuffled over to the coffee maker, took her favorite purple mug from an overhead cabinet and poured the elixir into her cup. Being satisfied with nothing other than black coffee, she sipped a soothing portion of her bitter remedy. Vitality washed over her, reviving her fogged soul, releasing it from the prison of sleepy mist. A memory drifted into her clarity and she smiled. She liked her memories and thus relished a bit in this one now.
He drove up in his black mustang and Elsa was in her new red dress, tight and fitting to her fine twenty-four year old body. She looked good and knew it. He stepped out, his long black cowboy boots biting into the grass. Alfred commented and she smiled, giggling.
Old bones straining, Martha took another sip and sets the cup down with a deep wrinkled smile. “Good times.”