Ghetto coffee

I arose from bed, dressed, wandered downstairs and into the kitchen. Filled the coffee pot with water, measured out coffee, inserted water and coffee into the machine. Pressed the button. Sat down. Stared vacantly into space, trying to remember what needed to be done today. Remembered. Gradually became aware that the beloved gurgling sounds and fragrant aroma of coffee brewing were not coming from the kitchen. Walked into kitchen. Turned machine off, then on again. Checked breaker. Turned machine off and on again. Plugged machine into another outlet. Stared at empty pot with something like incredulity. It gradually dawned on me. The coffee maker isn't working. But I want coffee. I like coffee in the morning. I need coffee in the morning. Making coffee usually requires a machine. I want some coffee. The machine that would usually make my beloved coffee isn't working. Which means no coffee. I would really like some coffee this morning. But wait, all the machine really does is heat the water and pump it through the grounds. I really, really want coffee this morning. There are other ways to heat water and pour it through grounds. They involve waiting. I don't want to wait. I want coffee. I hate instant coffee. I hate waiting. But I hate instant coffee more. I turn on the kettle. Eons later, I finally have a cup of brewed coffee. Where's that coupon for 20% off my next purchase at Linens and Things?