Auntie Coffee Grinder

Disaster has struck in Chicago!  My coffee grinder is broken.  

Moment of silence, please.

All right, I think that I've been considerably more relaxed since I quit my job, haven't been getting irate at minor, inconsequential things, but this is just bullshit.  We've had that grinder for less than a year, it cost like $80, and the motor appears to have burnt out.  Its not like I drank that much coffee!  Fucking fuck!

So while I was messing with the broken grinder, getting beans and old grounds all over myself, the kitchen counter and the floor, some noise in the stairwell woke up my daughter.  My wife was asleep, I was covered in coffee at various stages of ground-ness, and the baby awoke, was unhappy and decided she was on the verge of starvation.  So I had to go pick her up, thus caking her in coffee, and presented her to my wife to feed.  "How did she get coffee grounds all over herself."  Well duh!  How do you think?  

Coffee grinder update: since the debacle this morning which prompted me to write the first part of this post, I worked on the grinder some more.  It still didn't work, and I got so pissed off that I slammed it against the marble counter-top.  Presto!  It works like new.  Now on to what I meant to talk about today:

My daughter has three aunts.  My sister, wife's sister, and my wife's brother's wife.  Two of my wife's friends have so far referred to themselves as Aunt so-in-so, a tradition that I think is nice.  Its kind of weird for little kids to call their parents' friends by their first name alone, and calling close family friends Mrs. So-in-so is overly formal.  We're not going for The Sound of Music here.  Aunt B, however, is not amused!  

She was staying with us for a few days before her Indonesia trip, and as a result got wind of the impostor-aunties.  One of them has the last name Duck.  "Well," says Aunt B, "Your daughter can just call her Quack Quack!  SHE IS NOT HER AUNT!"  Very entertaining.

Now, being somewhat of an asshole, and never missing the opportunity to get at Aunt B, I decided that the best course of action was to make her feel better about the whole situation by referring to everyone that my daughter sees as Auntie.  

"Look sweetie, its Auntie Cleaning Lady."  

"Say 'thank you' to Auntie Grocery-Bagger!"

"There's Auntie Homeless Dude digging through the trash again..."

Aunt B's retaliation plan is to try to get my daughter to call people other than me "daddy."  Especially big black guys.  Not bad, not bad.  You didn't used to need my daughter as an excuse to talk to big black dudes, though.  What happened?  

In all fairness to Aunt B, she is a very good aunt, and my daughter loves her.  She's not even that bad of a house guest.  Unlike fish, she doesn't start stinking after a few days around.  She smells bad all the time.