happily addicted

We've been waiting for a good rainy day. And it finally came. Rain ringing out on the roof and tumbling through the gutters. It's a good day to be inside. I'm just about to brew an afternoon cup of coffee. It's my favorite cup of coffee - the afternoon one. When I worked in the city, nearly every afternoon, I stole away round the corner for a latte. No decaf, mind you. I don't believe in decaf coffee -it seems almost beside the point. But don't tell Ben I said so.

In the wintertime, when we were just a month married, we used to make lattes after dinner. We don't have an espresso maker, but we concocted makeshift lattes out of strong heady coffee and warm frothy milk. We had one adorable espresso cup (a wedding gift) which we dutifully traded back and forth (marriage is about compromise, after all). Which meant that every other night, it was my turn to have a latte in the dearest little cup.

Ben is a tea drinker. He says coffee makes him jittery. And while I'm sad that he can't have the simple pleasure of coffee in the moring - it does mean more for me.

Though Ben doesn't often drink coffee, he does brew a perfect pot - as though he's been doing it all his life. "Who loves you?" he asks as he sets a fresh cup down in front of me. You! You! You wonderful provider of coffee!

As much as I love a hot cup in the morning, I dread the tedious process of brewing coffee. Dumping the grinds. Washing out the pot. Measuring beans by the tablespoon. When all I really want is a Fresh Hot Cup of Coffee Right Now in my hands..coursing through my bloodstream.

So, while Ben drinks his decaffienated English Breakfast tea (with copious amounts of milk), I drink my coffee alone. No matter. It's the coffee I crave most in the morning, not company - at least, not until I've had my morning cup and am sufficiently awake and pleasant and amenable to conversation. The irony of coffee is that I have it every single day. And yet every single day, it is such a pleasure . Truly. What a lovely vice.