I Wonder Why He Can't Just Drink It ...

The Boy is not, nor has he ever been, a coffee drinker. He was born and raised in the South, and the breakfast beverage you drink in the South if you don’t drink coffee is Coke. Nobody from the South (or even transplants who’ve converted) thinks this is odd or decadent or a quick way to spend hours at the dentist’s office having twelve fillings. He’s a Coke man, and his habit far exceeds my coffee habit.

I don’t begrudge him his cola fix—I imbibe from time to time. Sometimes we even share a can. I just wish he didn’t scoff at my daily need for a hot cup of joe. He calls it “hot wet dirt” and makes faces when I try to give him a peck on the lips after I’ve had just a few sips.

I think he might really like it if he just gave it a try … it’s not like I’m a purist or anything. If my coffee isn’t a mocha, it has to have a good dose of Splenda and milk/cream/half & half. That’s practically got the sweetness of a Coke, right?

I think the thing I wonder about most is what it would be like if we could share a leisurely pot of medium roast (Montana has tons of local coffee brands and they’re all pretty dang tasty, but I am too frugal to spring for any of them—Capricorn, remember?—and usually have that summer-camp-size tub of Folgers in the fridge) over a Sunday morning chat. Or how close we’d feel if we could chatter on our way to the Farmers’ Market on Saturdays about what the special might be at the Loose Caboose booth. Or how, if The Boy would just be normal and like coffee like he should, he would understand how I feel when we’re running late and I don’t have a chance to make a pot and have to go to work on a busy day with no time to make or buy even one drop of fragrant, eye-opening relief!

Sorry. I’m only about a half-cup into my morning and I stay cranky until cup two.

So … I wonder how to convince The Boy that coffee is good and right and the only way to start a day?