Coffee and Polo

Sighhhhh.  Polo.  The scent of it reminds me of every grade 9 boy of yesteryear. I don't know if I actually enjoy the smell of Ralph Lauren's green bottle cologne or if it is the memories it brings with it that I find so attractive.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a boyfriend getting type of girl in the olden days (or now my dear husband), however, had I been, I am certain he would have doused himself in Polo.
Enter coffee.  My present day Polo. The smell of coffee is sexy.  Not rip your clothes off sexy but rather the excitingly appealing definition. Everything : the whif of the dark roasted beans in the bag...the smell of them being ground...and ooooooh the scent of a fresh brew! Giddy up. I don't seem to have a negative memory where coffee is the reminder. I am sure I have been drinking coffee when I have been delivered bad news, as we'll I'm certain I have spilled coffee on something white I have donned (a whole different rant).  Yet it has not jaded my coffee perspective. Even when morning has arrived much sooner than I have hoped, the smell of coffee can lift my spirits.
I adore the routine of coffee.  The shuffle to the kitchen. The tossing of the old coffee filter and grounds into the garbage can (don't judge me...I don't do it when I am done the pot).  The lining of the brew basket with a new filter.  Pouring the slightly greasy beans into the grinder. The painfully loud noise emitted from the grinder. Pouring the water into the reservoir. Pressing the button. And then the most magical part...the gurgling and sputtering of my dying machine as it floods the ground beans with hot water and permeates the air with most incredible scent.  The scent of morning. My shuffle takes on a lighter drag. My plans for the day starts to get clearer.

I shudder to think of what coffee would have smelled like on a grade 9 boy.

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