I freely admit it. On occasion, actually, most mornings, I do love a cup of great coffee. This morning was one of those mornings. However. Well, let me tell you about “however”.

We have a Keurig coffee maker. I love our Keurig Coffee maker because it’s easy and it’s fast. I can buy the cute, (alleged) planet polluting K-cups of my choice, switch brews when I want, and it makes me so happy to quickly and conveniently grab my cup of joe. (If you’ve wondered about the origins of the phrase “cup of Jo” here’s a fun article.) I don’t really like black coffee. I like to toss in a little bit of flavored coffee creamer. Well, truth be told, what I actually like is not so much a cup of coffee but rather cup of creamer with coffee on the side. I will also own up to the fact that my Norwegian, black coffee drinking, husband who comes from a long line of Norwegian, black coffee drinkers, looks at me with incredulity every time I add some of my flavored coffee creamer. I digress. The coffee creamer is what leads me to this discussion.

I got up bright and early today. My attitude was stellar, as usual. I walked into the kitchen to feed the cats and I turned on the Keurig as I walked past it. I wanted it ready to make my cup of coffee right after feeding the cats. I grabbed one of my favorite K-cup brews and popped it in the coffee maker. And I pressed the start button. I heard the sound of wonderful, brown, zoom juice elixir as it began flowing from the device into my empty cup. It was going to be a good day.

I love experimenting with coffee creamer flavors. But mostly ones that have “caramel” in their name. Fine! I love caramel coffee creamer! I had just purchased a new bottle of coffee creamer (Yes! Carmel. We’ve established that, haven’t we?) For those of you that live in the United States, you’ll acknowledge that any packaged food product, health  product, toy, or basically anything, including underwear, comes wrapped up in hermetically sealed packages designed to twart opening in less than 30 minutes. Back to opening the coffee creamer. There was a plastic wrapper covering the lid and part of the bottle neck which should have had a pull tab of some kind to help remove the wrapping. I’m pretty sure it was there. However I’m also sure only a unicorn standing in the full moon light during a Macy’s Midnight sale could have seen that pull tab. As my unicorn was nowhere around I was left to wrestle the plastic off of the outside of the bottom without benefit of the (alleged) pull tab. Careful usage of knife tips, nut pickers, tweezers, metal skewers and assorted kitchen implements finally helped me remove the plastic. My coffee sat on the shelf of the Keurig, mocking me by sending a heady scent of its brown, life giving, zoom juice elixir my way.

I turned my focus back to the next required point of entry on the creamer. Yes! It stared up at me mockingly. I’m fairly certain if I looked under a very strong magnifying glass I would find in almost invisible  print the words, “you’ll never breach me”. The dreaded foil seal! Like a knight of old, it came fully garbed in silver armor ready to inhibit trespass into its sacred fortress.

I looked longingly at my coffee for backup and fortification. It stood like a silent, brooding sentinel awaiting its own rescue from the Keurig shelf. I was on my own. Now the thing about those foil seals is that companies always put a helpful tab on them which inspires you to believe that pulling that tab will help you zip the entire seal off in one easy pull. I’m not sure who manufactures those tabs but I think they might be part of a government issue test prototype you could conceivably hide (very small) nuclear missiles underneath the foil seal with very little risk of ingress.

I knew I had to bring my “A” game this morning if I wanted to get that caramel coffee creamer into my now lukewarm coffee! So, I carefully picked up the little tab and I gave it a hard but controlled pull. Anyone who has ever pulled one of them incorrectly knows that if you pull the tab off you’re really in serious trouble. Your only option at that point will be to spend hours chiseling away at the sides of the opening to the bottle as you beg the foil gods above to please help you get the foil off. For those of you who are not type “A” and OCD, I’m quite sure you could punch a hole in it with a pencil and achieve the same result. For those of us that are type “A” and OCD, that’s so not an option. I pulled the foil tab straight up and it stopped dead at the rim of the bottle. It was still intact, so I was in a winner’s position from that standpoint. I spent the next 30 minutes (ok, fine. It was maybe 2 minutes tops) utilizing every object I could conceive of to pull that foil off the creamer in one solid piece. (Did you miss the confession prior of “type “A” and OCD”?)

Suddenly, I felt the silver foiled guardian give way. Much to my chagrin and delight I was able to pull the foil off! Only 1/3 of it came off! Not to worry it was a clean tear. I was able to quickly (and cleanly) remove the remainder of the dreaded foil seal. Victory was mine you little silver sh…oops, I forgot this is a family blog.

Returning to my now almost room temperature coffee, I quickly poured a small amount of creamer into the cup, gave it a quick stir and took my first sip. Yes, you don’t own me this morning shiny, silver seal. Victory comes to me in the form of cold coffee. Until we meet again. (And I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that a sharp pencil “may” be involved in our next battle.)