“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.”
“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 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.