“It’s like silk,” I tell her, eyes all ablaze. “Balanced,” I say. “More balanced than those workers eating lunch on the sixty-ninth of the Rockefeller. A mile up from the concrete. Those dudes were balanced. But this,” and I take another sip. “This is balanced. Balanced with all that is right and good in the universe.”

“Dear, what are you talking about?” she says. “It’s just a sock! Whatever are you talking about balanced for?”

“Yes, honey, I know it’s just a sock. It says it right here.” And I point to the label. “‘CoffeeSock’. But this is not your ordinary sock. This sock must’ve come from the bowels of God himself, you know?”

“What do you mean, bowels?” she says. Then whispers, “Not around the children, dear!”

“Oh, honey, you know what I mean! I don’t mean sacrilege. It’s just a figure of speech. I mean from his depths. The depths of the holy. From the depths of glory! You know? His Inners. His inwards. It’s hard to put it in-words, you know.”

“No. I don’t know,” she says. And I take another sip.

*      *      *

She, this dear, lovely lady of mine brought me home a set of two CoffeeSocks and I looked at her and said, “Why would anybody want a drink coffee made through a sock?”

And she looked at me and said, “Why are you always judging things before you try them?”

And she’s right. I am. So I took that as a challenge and I tried that sock.

“The directions said to boil it for ten minutes to ‘pre-shrink’ it. Yeah, right, pre-shrink! You aren’t fooling anybody. I’ve been around long enough to know you don’t boil something for ten minutes just to shrink it. You boil it to kill something in it. Besides, I shrink things in the dryer.” So I threw that CoffeeSock in the dryer for ten minutes, and it smelled like a couple of dryer sheets afterwards. But did the job.

“The label here tells me,” I said to her, “‘CoffeeSock reusable filters make a noticeably superior brew from the first pour.’ I’ll tell you what’s superior, dear. Superior is not having to pour your coffee through a sock. Superior is waking up with your coffee ready made for you before you wake up. But I’m not one to waste,” I said.

Then I took my first sip.

“Whoa!” I said. And she looked at me. “Now that’s superior! You ever felt silk before, honey?”

And her eyes looked at me as though she were saying, Have you ever bought me anything made from silk?

“Silk, honey, you know. Imagine with me for minute. Imagine silk times a hundred. No, a million! Now that’s smooth.”

And she looked at me like she does when she knows she’s been proven right and I’ve been schooled.

So I take another sip.

“I mean, baby, I knew I was good at making coffee, but dang! I didn’t know about pouring-it-through-a-sock making it better! Wait’ll I tell the guys. Been humbled by a sock. Whoo!”

I take another sip, and pick up the label.

“Label says these things last up to a year or more. Look at that!”

“That’s because they’re organic,” she says.

“O-gantic? What’s that, like bigger than gigantic?” I take another sip. “Because these things are making coffee larger than life for me right now.”

And I read the label some more.

“Label says here there’s ‘no unpleasant bitterness or bad attitude.’ I guess they’re right,” I say. “I guess they’re right. Because my bad attitude has gone out the window, I tell you.”

I take another sip.

“Honey, get this. Label says these things are ‘vegan’ and ‘gluten free’. That means they’re healthy, right?”

“They’re just cotton,” she says.

And that’s all she needs to say to make me wonder about making coffee through my cotton underwear. The possibilities are endless. But I’ll leave that for another day.

And I take another sip.


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