imageTwo cups of coffee. Ok, so one cup is a slightly bigger cup than the other – this is true. But really ? Does it matter that one of us gets an extra gulp or two from that first morning hit. Does it permit a comment, let alone a guilt trip as I place down his “Dad and proud” mug bedside and sheepishly protect my oversized bowl as I scuttle back under the covers. I mean it is mine after all. The words “Worlds greatest wife” confirm this…..AND I was the hero that got up to make it. This counts for something surely ? I am entitled to it by default.
It is inevitable he notices as I snuggle back down and cup slurp with both hands.
What ? I say, turning to face him – as if I don’t already know.
It is a ground-hog day ritual in our house and one I refuse to give into. One day I might be kind to him – surprise him on his birthday perhaps. Or maybe not…….after all he could always baton the morning barista duties and use a 3 litre jug to cypher it in whilst I tippled from a thimble.
I know this will never happen.
I will rile him to eternity instead.