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‘Sup soup homies,
So about a month ago, my boyfriend broke my coffee grinder. The power cord was touching the side of the massive cast-iron skillet he was heating and he didn’t see it until it was too late. Now, to be fair, the skillet is far too large for our tiny little stove. And, to be fair, I do (did) store all of my kitchen electronics next to the stove and have no flair for cable management. I myself have almost melted my electric kettle, my Nutribullet, and my pressure cooker in turn. The difference, apparently, is that I am the observant one.
Still, regardless of how much contributory negligence figured into this incident, the result was that my coffee grinder was ruined, and I was sad—and not just a little sad. I’ve been sad about this for weeks. I’ve lamented the loss to friends and family. Every day, I envision how much better my new coffee station would look if only that grinder was sitting there.
And before you ask, yes, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I genuinely miss this coffee grinder. Emotional attachment to material things is cheugy AF, I know. But I’ve been grieving this coffee grinder so much that I feel like I need to analyze this feeling.
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