Terms and Conditions
This isn't a morning routine. A routine is something you can skip. This is a legally binding contract, signed in triplicate by me, my nervous system, and whatever ancient god invented the coffee bean. The terms are simple. First, I drink the coffee. Then, I do the things. In that order. Forever.
There is no clause for "just one quick question before coffee." There is no addendum for "but it's urgent." The contract is airtight, and it has been upheld in the highest court I recognize, which is my own kitchen at 6:45 in the morning.
Violations Will Be Billed
Anyone who speaks to me before step one completes will be billed for emotional damages. The rate is one full coffee per interruption, payable immediately, non-negotiable. Repeat offenders will be invoiced for the coffee AND subjected to the stare — you know the one, the thousand-yard stare of a person whose soul hasn't finished booting up yet.
Phone calls before coffee are a war crime. Morning meetings before coffee are a hostage situation. And "we need to talk" before coffee is simply how horror movies start.
In That Order. Forever.
People say I should be more flexible. People also say I should try decaf, and those people are no longer in my life. The order is the whole point. Coffee first, things second. Reverse the order and the things simply do not get done — or worse, they get done badly, by a goblin wearing my face.
So respect the contract. It's kept the peace for years. And if you need me before 7 AM, bring an offering. The offering is coffee.
Amendments to the contract are not accepted. I tried once, during a particularly optimistic January, to move 'drink the coffee' to step two. The result was a morning so catastrophic that the contract now includes a specific clause forbidding optimism before caffeine. It is initialed. It is final.
The Fine Print
Like all binding contracts, this one has fine print, and you'd better read it before you initial. Clause one: "morning" is defined as any period before the second cup, regardless of what the clock says. Noon is still morning if the coffee hasn't happened. Clause two: decaf does not count. Offering decaf as a substitute is legally equivalent to a hostile act and will be treated accordingly.
Clause three covers guests: visitors to the household are entitled to exactly one (1) warning — "I haven't had my coffee yet" — after which all bets are off. Clause four: the contract auto-renews daily at midnight and cannot be cancelled, paused, or renegotiated. It has been in effect since 2019 and has survived three moves, two jobs, and one attempt at "just having tea instead." We don't talk about the tea incident.
Breach of Contract: A Cautionary Tale
Ask around and you'll hear the stories. The coworker who scheduled a 7 AM meeting and is now spoken of only in whispers. The relative who called during cup one to discuss "a quick thing" and learned that nothing is quick before caffeine. The barista who once asked "is decaf okay?" and watched a grown adult's soul briefly leave their body.
The lesson is always the same: the contract exists for everyone's safety. First I drink the coffee. Then I do the things. In that order. Forever. Sign at the bottom, initial each page, and for the love of all that is holy, don't talk during cup one.