Coffee

My wife and I have a very well established routine when it comes to who makes the coffee in the morning. Holly makes it during the week, as she is the one who is actually physically capable of getting up on the bad side of 6am – no matter how I try I always seem to only be able to crawl out of bed just after six, although that probably has something to do with the fact that before six it is still technically nighttime.

On Saturdays and Sundays I make the coffee, because I’m a soft touch when it comes to the cat demanding breakfast and almost always give in first.

This information is vital in order to understand the following snippet of conversation I just enjoyed with my wife.

I had just gotten up to fix myself a hot drink (chocolate, if you must know, in order to bribe the mild cold-like symptoms I’m currently enduring), and as if often the way in our house if the kettle’s boiling, Holly asked for a coffee.

“You take two sugars, don’t you?” I said, more seeking a confirmation rather than not actually knowing the answer.

“No,” Holly replied, as if I should know that I was wrong.

“Oh,” I paused, having already spooned two sugars into her mug. “Well, you do on weekends.”

Holly didn’t complain. I finished making the coffee. Maybe I’ll get it right next time.

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