My suspicion was confirmed when I hastily yanked the K-cup back out of the coffee maker and saw DECAF printed across the top of its label.
“What the hell?” I whispered to myself. I threw the K-cup into the trash, offended. How had a decaf K-cup gotten into my supply?
Then I remembered that a neighbor who doesn't drink coffee, in a misguided attempt at kindness, had brought it from the hotel that she and her husband had stayed in during an anniversary trip.
While it was sweet of her to think of me on such a special occasion, I couldn’t seem to shake one prevailing thought from my mind: Bitch almost ruined my day.