There's the instant variety, which is what the hubby makes for me first thing in the morning when he wants me to wake up and get his lunch ready...no, really. Because once I'm awake? I'm Tigger. Yup. Bouncy. I like this brand. it took me a whole lotta tasting to find one that didn't taste like... bleh. It's also what he makes for me in the evening.
Then there's the stuff I make as soon as he's left for work. In a coffee pot. Glorious. I LOVE my coffee machine, even if Wulf Godgluck named it Fluffy and it stuck...
That is what fuels my brain throughout the day when I'm writing, and it's usually all gone by the time he gets home. Then we're onto the instant.
And then there are the Espresso coffee beans I keep in the fridge. I grind them in the little contraption you see below. It's older than me. Really. It belonged to my parents, Mum got custody of it when they divorced and then she gave it to me when it was all rusty inside and she hadn't used it for years. She did warn me it would need taking apart and cleaning thoroughly.
(Hubbies DO have their uses :-) )
I used to have a stove top coffee pot, until we moved to the island and it got left behind, because the new hob was an Induction hob, and it would have been useless. A few years later I found an Induction-safe version. Bliss.
So why am I talking about coffee. Two words - The Hubby.
You see, lately, he's been working on a site, getting new build houses ready. I made the suggestion one day that maybe he'd like to take my Starbucks insulated mug - 20oz - with him, full of hot instant coffee, made strong.
This went down really well. So well, in fact, that he does it every day.
I should point out here that this man is a Tea Drinker. Lifelong. Coffee just happens to be a convenient way for him to keep warm on site. MY coffee. (This is important, right?)
Fast forward to this morning.
I go to make him his coffee, and.... no coffee.
*stares into empty tin*
"Have we run out of coffee?" I ask.
"There's another tin on the cupboard," he calls from the lounge, where he's sitting glued to the news on his phone.
I open said cupboard, and... no coffee.
"Oh. it's not coffee, is it? It's that tin of hot chocolate."
*stares into empty tin again.*
"Listen," he calls again. "You don't need to make coffee for me. I have a flask of hot water, I can make tea."
*STARES at empty tin.*
No, I can't. Really.
I walk into the hall where I know he can see me. He smiles. "Honestly, it's okay. I'll do without."
"I'm really glad about that," I say, sarcasm dripping from my tongue.
He stares back at me for a second or two. Then he gets it. "You've got coffee, right?"
"Uh huh." I walk back into the kitchen, trying not to think that he thinks it's all about him, that the poor soul will make do with the tea he drinks EVERY DAMN DAY while his wife, the coffee drinker, will have to leave her writing at some point to go shopping for coffee.
Tries not to stare into the cupboard where there is box upon box upon box of tea....
Trust me, it was funny at the time.