I'm about to go all Rascal Flatts up in here.

I'm moving out in a few weeks. Yep. Moving out of this house, and this marriage, and into another house, and God willing and the creek don't rise, at least twelve or thirteen more marriages - eventually. These things can't be rushed.

This move feels really big, and really scary, and really important for me, even though I'm only moving 7/10ths of a mile away from where I've enjoyed married life to Mr. Man AKA Huzzie Bestie.

Maybe it's because the house I'm moving into isn't exactly a palace. (More like a Cracker Jack prize in ghetto Cracker Jacks.) Maybe it's because I'm forty-six, and I still don't have whatever that thing is people have who can stay married longer than it takes the paint to dry with a new name on the mailbox.
Or maybe it's because I don't have the right coffee pot.

I choose C.

My coffee pot was created for more than one person. No matter how hard I try to make just enough coffee for one chick, it always comes out as 'married people coffee'. I have a feeling the first morning I wake up to make coffee and find that I have enough for me plus one husband (insert name here), I'm gonna feel sad. And overly-caffeinated. And then sad again, but really, really energetic.

Sure, I could go buy one of those Here is Your One Cup of Coffee You Single Loser Who Has Failed Yet Again at Sustaining a Long Term Relationship coffee makers. But what will I do when I get lucky at Wal-Mart and the Frozen Pea Stocker Guy wants to come home with me? What? Am I gonna say, "Sorry Hot Frozen Pea Stocker Dude, but I'm a one cup house and you're outta luck"?

Of course not. No one talks to Frozen Pea Guy like that. He has a mustache.

I'm distressed. Maybe I should just get married again so that I have someone with whom to share a full pot of coffee. Hell, I once married a guy just so I didn't waste the six inches of a foot-long sub I never eat.