Skyla once left a note on my refrigerator reminding me that coffee wasn’t breakfast. It was all I had left of my broke girlfriend after she disappeared for five days, unaware that the serious illness I’d confessed to was a lie designed to test her loyalty. When she finally returned and placed something before me, I covered my face and cried like a child.
The first time Skyla watched me throw away a coffee machine, she thought I’d lost my mind.
“It stopped working,” I explained.
“Did you try cleaning it?”
“I bought another one.”
She glanced at the replacement sitting on my counter.
“Archie, the old one probably just needed descaling.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Clearly.”
She brought the discarded machine home.
Two days later, she sent me a picture showing it working perfectly.
FIXED. COST: $4.
I burst out laughing.
That was Skyla.