Decaf mornings

“Why has no one invented a coffee dispenser that can read your mind, start making the coffee, and deliver it to the bedside table even before you open your eyes?” I whined.

“That’s what I’m for,” said my husband.

“No you’re not, silly. You’re not just a coffee dispenser.” I smiled.

He returned it and kissed me on the forehead.

“You also do the mowing and the heavy lifting,” I said.

“Sure, but coffee’s the main one. Have you been around you when you’re decaffeinated? NO ONE wants to hang around that, trust me,” he said. “So I’m all over the coffee.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed.


“Yep. You’re like a walrus without the seaside,” he said. And then realising his mistake, he added quickly, “No, no, it’s not that you’re a walrus. You know what I mean.”

“That I’m a fat desperado who needs a caffeine fix or she turns into an unrecognisable monster?”

“No, I mean you’re a beautiful person,” he said. “Just not when you wake up.”

“I’m gorgeous when I wake up!”

He looked at me, eyebrow cocked, annoying smirk tugging at his lips.

“Okay, maybe not gorgeous, but definitely still funny, engaging and delightful.”

“You think?”

“Of course!” I said. “And to prove it, let’s skip the coffee tomorrow morning.”

His eyes widened for a moment. Then he nodded slowly and sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Your funeral. Or mine – ’cause one of us isn’t going to make it, that’s for sure.”

He left the room and I ignored the flutter of nervousness that took up residence in my belly.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and smelled the delicious scent of coffee. I smiled and reached for the bedside.

Huh? No coffee?

Was my husband lying on the kitchen floor, coffee puddle spreading in a dark pool beneath him?

I leapt from the covers and dashed for the kitchen.

There I found him, whole and hearty, mug in hand, just staring into space.

“Are you some sort of animal?!” I yelled. “How could you do this to me? Do you know how worried I was?”

He took a deep breath.

“Don’t you breathe at me!”

He opened his mouth to say something.

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it.” I stalked past him to the coffee maker, but he beat me to it, pressing his own mug into my hand.

“Drink,” he said. “For the love of God, just drink.”

I drank.

I lowered the mug from my lips and blinked. “The kitchen? How – ?”

My husband just smiled, took my hand, and led me back to the bedroom.

“Good morning, lovely husband,” I said. “I think I must have sleep-walked.”

“Yep. That’s what you did. Don’t worry, no one got hurt.”

I nodded and drank the rest of the coffee.

“You were right. You are a delight without coffee,” he said.

“Well, d’uh. I told you that.”

He nodded, and the day began.


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