I went to coffeegeek.com today. I actually went to a website with "geek" in the title. Will wonders never cease.

It's all dear Edgerton's fault. It all started when, on spying his brand new shiny French press on the counter, I suddenly had a craving for coffee. Many moons ago I would have just thrown a few spoonfuls of Nescafe in and sploshed in some hot water on top of it. A hasty plunge later and I'd be drinking what, at the time, I would have considered a decent coffee. But not now. Not since Edgerton.

As I typed coffeegeek.com into the browser I knew my anal retentive husband would be proud. As I preheated the carafe and carefully measured out the freshly ground Ethopia Yergacheffe Aricha Organic coffee beans from 49th Parallel Roaster I knew that, had Edgerton been watching, a tear would have come to his eye. As I stirred my coffee concoction precisely six times with the coffeegeek recommended chopstick, I realized that my husband had turned me into a coffee snob.

I have to admit - Edgie makes THE best coffee. But now I am spoiled. Tim Hortons, once acceptable, now makes me want to hurl. When Edgie's not around, I suffer greatly ... but I shall suffer no more ... not now that I have coffeegeek.com as backup.

Having Mr. Persnickety as a husband can be trying at times, but how can I complain when I am so often the recipient of lovingly made cappuccinos, often delivered with a latte art heart? I am proud of my coffee geek. In fact, on entering the coffeegeek's website I think that the front page image should be Edgerton himself , smugly sipping a fresh brew, the air of superiority wafting off the page. And that, would bring a tear to my eye.

There was an article at CBC.ca yesterday about an employer who received a text message from one of his employees saying that he, the employee, was stuck in a hole. The police were alerted and the search began. Turns out the employee was at home, drunk off his face, with trigger happy texting fingers.

CBC's headline?

WTF? False cry for help in text message triggers police search.

The WTF part of the headline generated many negatives comments on the CBC message board. Posters hurled words at the CBC such as classless, inappropriate, and unprofessional.

I, OTOH, LOL'ed and ROFLMAO'ed. Especially when the people commenting complained that they couldn't use WTF in their post because of the CBC language filter. OMG I almost PMPL.

The CBC have now removed WTF from the headline. :(

IMHO, it may have technically been inappropriate but, ATEOTD, it was a ray of sunshine on a website full of mostly dismal news ... and TBH, GMTA because I would have written the same headline.

Anyway, G2G. HAND, and remember, DFTT.

L8R

There are many words spouses fear hearing from their significant others:

We need to talk.
I don't love you anymore.
I've found somebody new.
It's not you, it's me.

Scary words indeed. But nothing frightens my husband more than:

Maybe we should consider....

Seems harmless enough. I suppose it would be if what followed was along the lines of:

... putting in another flower bed.

or

... having roast beef for dinner tonight.

But I have never followed "maybe we should consider" with the above phrases. Here is what I am more likely (and have) followed it with:

... moving to Germany for six months.
... getting a dog.
... having another baby. (to be clear, that one was AGES ago)
... doing a home exchange.

So, you see, "maybe we should consider" puts poor dear Edgerton on edge. His body stiffens, his eyes narrow, and the pens in his pocket protector shake from his rapidly beating heart. Ultimately, what happens is this - my smashing idea is rejected before it's even uttered. So I need a new opener. And it can't be "So I was thinking" ... that has already been exhausted and is now in retirement. Any ideas? Please post below.

I looked at my face the other day. Really looked at it. I have this big crease across my forehead. I showed my husband. "That's from years of wearing a grumpy frown," he said. I went back to the mirror. I frowned. No, that wasn't it. Frowning appeared to be the cause of the smaller wrinkles at the top of my nose, between my eyes.

So what was the cause of this ginormous gash in the middle of my forehead? I practiced some other faces in the hopes of finding out.

Feeling hopeful, I smiled. Nope, that wasn't it.

Wondering if perhaps I have spent most of my life surprised, I widened my eyes and channeled a sense of wonder. Nope, that wasn't it either.

Then I put on my incredulous look. Bingo! The crease deepened, the length and depth of it revealing just how often I have made that face over the years.

As I examined my incredulous face my head was instantly filled with echoes ... echoes of my own voice ...

Yeah, right.
Puh-lease.
What a bloody moron.
People are idiots.
What a jerk.
What was he/she thinking?
Are you outta your freakin' mind?
What the hell?

It may appear that I have spent most of my life thinking people are idiots and pshawing every five minutes, but on further reflection I realized that my incredulous face is also one I use quite often in an amused "you're such a jerk, that's why I love you" kind of way.

Am I bothered by the fact that my incredulity has left its mark on my once smooth forehead? Nah. Whatdaya gonna do? So I have a big wrinkle on my head ... so what? At least it wasn't caused by years of frowning. That, I'd regret.

I once toyed with the idea of a home exchange. Visit homeexchange.com to see what I mean. This is it how it works: you click on your dream holiday destination and then search through the listing of homeowners from that area who have your town/city/country in mind for their holiday destination. Then, after perusing each other's profiles (complete with house photos and touristy type info) you can swap homes! Saves a bundle on accommodation fees!

Enthralled with this idea, I decided to look into it further. The "pick a country" list was large and varied ... Australia, Peru, Japan, Norway, Egypt. But I had no need for exotic destinations. I went straight to the E's - England - click! Then, straight to the Y's - Yorkshire Dales - clickity click click click!

There were several listings. My favourite? The 150 year old converted farmhouse smack dab in the middle of the countryside. The exterior of the house was gorgeous - grand, yet rustic. The interior was fantastic - modern, yet cottage-like.

I read on.

The listing described the quaint country pub in the village, only two miles away. It described the river that ran just behind the house and the miles and miles of lush countryside, seen from their front room window. Feel the need for a trip to London? Only two hours away by train. (I say Pah! Who needs London?)

The owners of the house went on to explain that Fido, their sweet, beloved border collie, could be left behind if the holiday makers so desired. (Yes, please!)

They added that both the Range Rover and the VW Convertible would be available for use as well. (Um, well, okay, if you insist!)

Ah yes, this was the one. This home on the Yorkshire Dales would do just fine.

It would be marvelous. My children would be transformed. No longer would they need Wii's or Game Cubes or internet, for they would discover the simple beauty of a quiet game of Old Maid or, even better, Go Fish, in front of the fireplace. And besides, who needs Super Mario when you have Lord Fluffington? (The dog ... I renamed him).

The whole notion of a holiday home exchange with Peter and Petula McAllister (I named them too) seemed ideal.

Then I thought about the McAllisters coming, here, to my house. That's when my Yorkshire Dales dream crumbled. What could I offer these people? I'd get a magnificent view of the English countryside, while they'd get a view of ... other houses. I'd be bumping merrily down country roads in Chuck (the Range Rover), making my way to the village pub for a rustic lunch and a pint of lager, while the McAllisters would be rattling around in a crappy Dodge Caravan with a broken passenger side window and the slight aroma of cheesy feet, making their way to the neighbourhood Macs for a bag of chips and a Kit-Kat.

I faced reality. It was never gonna happen.

Turns out it wouldn't have happened anyway. My husband shuddered at the very idea. While he did not object to a trip to the dales, he strongly objected to the idea of strangers in our house. With a turned up nose and a just-about-to-vomit grimace he said:

"Ew! Strange people using our mugs and glasses and touching our remotes and computer keyboards and sweating in our bed? Ew. No. No. Blech. Yuck. No. Oh my God. No."

(My husband is a germophobe but that's another blog entry.)

So that was it. The end of the fantasy. But mark my words - some day I will be frolicking in the Yorkshire Dales donning a Barbour wax jacket and a fetching pair of khaki Wellingtons, a loyal hound with a grand name at my side.

In the meantime, homeexchange.com is a fun place to surf. Go ahead, try it. Even if you never plan on a home exchange, it's fun to see where/how people in other parts of the world live.

And sometimes, toying with an idea is as much fun as following through with it.