WHAT DID YOU SAY???

"Mom? I think you are losing your hearing."

This conversation started after I commented that the new brand of coffee I was brewing had a REALLY strong aroma.

Since figuring out that, tablespoon for tablespoon, my favorite creamer has more sugar than a Coke, I've become a black coffee drinker. I've always tended toward a more mellow coffee, preferably flavored after roasting with something yummy like hazelnut or vanilla or chocolate.

In fact, I can't drink Starbucks to save my life. It's too full-bodied for me. Not to mention that paying $4 for a coffee is reserved for a nice night out with my husband at a five-star restaurant.

So, yesterday I went out on a limb and purchased a "medium" coffee. And it seemed to be brewing up strong. And, I started to get a little worried that my morning brew was going to make hair expel from my chest a la Tom Selleck*.

Hence my comment to the kids, that my coffee was rather odor-fying**.

That's when my apparent deafness was brought to my attention.

"Well, when we are standing close to you and say "Mom?", sometimes we have to repeat ourselves like four or five times."

This was the point at which I made it abundantly clear that, when people say "Mom" at me in rapid-fire succession, I hear them quite well, thank you. And I'm ignoring the behavior that appears to have been learned from the likes of a rabid badger. Or coming from the sound of a Tommy gun at midnight in front of a jazz club in 40's Chicago.

"OK. But what does the coffee have to do with this?" I inquire.

"Well, you know that when one sense starts to decline, other senses start to increase." This was a very point-blank statement, made with a scrunchy "sorry to inform you" face.

"AND???"

"I don't smell the coffee."

There was no comment from me. Just a look like "What in Sam Hill are you talking about, boy?"

"Hooman? Babe? Do you smell the coffee?" Hearty "no" nods from the peanut gallery.

"Mom. None of us smell the coffee." He says this last part apologetically, like he's just told me I have two days to live and, for my own good, they are putting me in a nursing home to convalesce.

At this point I'm partially rejoicing because I see my kid has learned something in science class. WHOOOHHOOOO: the intricacies of the senses!

And I'm partially mourning because I realize logic, which is a class reserved for the sixth grade and up, is really lacking. I'm standing about 2 feet from the coffee pot. If I couldn't smell this overpowering medium-bodied coffee, I'd be in the bathroom with a Neti Pot shoved up to the top of my sinuses doing some serious irrigation.

Somehow, at this juncture in our "Mom, you are getting old and we hate to be the ones to inform you" conversation, someone started to whine about his oatmeal and the entire train of deafness thought came to a grinding halt.

In retrospect, I'm glad I had another chance to lay down the important lesson in "How to reverse improper ways of getting your Mother's attention so you might actually have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting what you want."

And the coffee was great. A little on the strong side for me, but a good brew, nonetheless. I'm considering this a pioneering day for me on the way to drinking coffee that won't garner snide comments from 16-year-old baristas***.

So from now on, if you think I don't hear you when you speak to me? Just ask if I can smell the poo that Doug freshly deposited on the rug in the dining room****.

If the answer is "yes"? Just talk a little louder.



*Even my Grandmother had a crush on him back in the day. When three generations of family pronounce something good, it has to be.

**A combination of smelly and terrifying.

***Several years ago, in a Starbucks, when I asked for a really "light" coffee, a snotty teenager had the nerve to tell me they don't brew Sanka at Starbucks. She was lucky I had just been to a sushi bar with a friend and had a little saki in me, otherwise I would have given her a fresh piece of my mind.

****Now that it is 'cold' outside, he's back to his old hi jinks.