I was upset and decided to buy a Nespresso machine. Yes, there’s a connection. My sister loves her Nespresso machine so much that she travels with it in her handbag internationally. And I miss my sister, so buying the machine was going to make me feel closer to her. Of course, I’m also really into coffee.
I stood in the Nespresso aisle at Kohl’s and asked for a sign. Should I buy it? Or deal with my frustration without engaging in ostentatious consumerism? So I decided to see where the machine was made. If it says China, I thought, to hell with the expensive little bastard. I turned it over and. . .
If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
I brought it home but then a new problem arose. This is not a machine that’s adapted to male mentality. Men want to grab, push, dominate. But this machine requires a light, unhurried, gentle touch. N started wrestling with it like it’s a bear in the Ural Mountains instead of coaxing it into action through a light caress.
The coffee is great, though. Ay yay yay, is it ever so great.