I do not know how to make coffee. I don't want to know how.
When I was a flight attendant, all I had to do is stick a pre-made coffee packet in a slot and push a button. Bam, we had coffee.
Here at home we have a coffee maker that is like an alien that sits on my counter. Anthony knows how to make it, and so he does.
I realized this morning that out of all the things I do and know how to do, I do not want this skill. There is something nice about having someone you love make coffee for you. Just like a peanut butter sandwich or grill cheese. You can make it yourself, but it tastes better when someone else makes it. The molecules are different when made by other hands. It's just magical.
I feel taken care of and pampered when I smell coffee and I am still in bed. I know that my man has made it for me. Please know that I am not a pampered kind of chic. So this one little gesture makes me feel like the Queen of Sheba.
My hope is that all get this feeling over something so small, yet so big at the same time.
Peace Out
1 comment:
maria...i hear you! i told my dear husband that the fastest way to my heart first thing in the morning is a cuppa (he knows just how i take it)...fresh from the pot! that is true romance for me
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