The reality of reality

A deliciously hot topic

I love a hot beverage in the morning, typically tea. I don’t dislike coffee. In fact, a trip to Australia a year and a half ago nearly converted me. Good on you, Ozzies, for your fabulous flat whites!

But no. As soon as I returned to the States, it was back to my loose, gunpowder green tea and real, not-to-be-confused-with-half-and-half cream.

In recent past, I added a mug of lemon-infused hot water to my routine. Hydration before caffeination seemed worthy. I’d already tried most other self-improvement techniques, none of which transformed me into a beacon of light, dammit, so I figured I may as well give this a shot. And anyway, I’d long been the example of what not to do when it comes to water-drinking protocols. Even if that forenoon cup was all I managed to ingest for the day, I would no longer qualify as a total H₂O-L (aka: water loser).

So. First water, then tea, with a fairly rigid cut-off of 2:00 PM, to up the odds that I’ll sleep that night and be ready to do it all again the next day. That means my daily hot beveraging lasts for roughly half of my waking hours. It’s pleasing. It’s predictable. I love it.

And there is one big hitch.

For the life of me, I can’t get a pour from start to finish without the disappointment of sipping on a lukewarm product. I’ve tried pre-heating. I’ve tried coasters and lids. I’ve tried half cups. Nothing helps. On a given morning, my attention skips from the ergonomics of my toothbrush, to essays, to emails, and beyond. How am I also supposed to focus on emptying my cup when nothing stays in one place? And where’s the satisfaction in slamming it down?

Needless to say, my microwave gets a lot of action. I’d wager I invest close to an hour every week just reheating whatever it is I was meant to be enjoying before it went cold. With so many nuke-cycles in my schedule, I probably spend more time warming things up than I do drinking them down.

Yes, all this runs counter to what the tea (and coffee) nerds recommend for best flavor. Yes, I could start fresh with each cup. But I don’t, and I’m not likely to, and that’s that.

So, I had an idea the other day—a ridiculously self-indulgent, first world idea. Coincidentally, I was already relishing ridiculous self-indulgence, legs warm under the covers, a trio of fluffy pillows supporting my back, when I discovered that the contents of my morning mug had gone from sauna to wet socks.

What if, I thought, I could find a single-cup microwave? A micro-microwave, as it were, that would fit on my already overburdened bedside table? If I could find said device, I would not need to leave my cozy nest to walk 15 paces to the kitchen. I could just lean over, pop my mug in the dingbox, et voila!

Of course, this would not solve the larger problem of me wandering around while my tea loses steam. And I really shouldn’t. I mean, yes, it would be amazing, if I found the right thing. But I probably wouldn’t. Like I need another gadget! It would just end up in the landfill one day, and that would be awful. But it couldn’t hurt to have a quick look, right?

It took about as long to find the perfect little appliance as it might to zap a tepid beverage. A discreet, black cube with turquoise buttons. 5.12"D x 9.45"W x 7.28"H. Electronic. Under $70. If I moved some old magazines to a different shelf, I could totally make space for it.

The reviews though—oof. Only three stars. I’d better see what that’s about.

“…Not like the real microwave oven built in over my stove.” wrote William G. Robertson a year ago. Three stars.

“It look [sic] bigger on the picture.” Stacy wrote six months ago. One star.

“Electronic microwave my ass!!” wrote Snail Gail two months ago, adding a pair of exclamation points for emphasis.

And that’s when the reality of reality hit.

It turns out, my dream machine is a toy, a pretend microwave for children. What a pity all those other buyers didn’t read the reviews. What a pity no real microwave even comes close to something that size. Yes, I looked. What a pity the seller can prey so easily on the desperation of distractible, over-privileged nitwits who can’t finish a hot cup of anything or read carefully enough to notice that the product description says it comes with a croissant and a plate!! I added the two exclamation points for emphasis.

There is a silver lining to this whole experience. It also turns out, because I looked at this, too, in the run up to sharing all this with you, that the whole 8-glasses-a-day water guzzling guidance is balderdash, nonsense, a myth largely promulgated by the bottled water industry.

I could give up my lemon water without a second thought. But I’m not likely to, and that’s that. At the end of the day, I guess I was closer to being that beacon of light than ever really knew.

~Elizabeth

Photo by Ioann-Mark Kuznietsov on Unsplash