Need my cup of joe.
Hubby at Starbucks!
When Hubby runs errands on the weekends I usually send him for a Starbucks. Now, Hubby is a macho guy—he buys his morning cup of joe at 7-11 before going to the office. Scalding hot. Gigantor-sized. No-frills. No cream. No sugar. Strong! Robust!
So for him to enter a Starbucks by himself—without me—gives him the willies. ( He has trouble going into Victoria’s Secret, too).
He can’t seem to memorize my order. Can’t say I blame him, I tend to change my frothy caffeine concoctions frequently—being a woman and all that. Through the years, my coffee confections have morphed. From the iconic (too caloric rich) mocha to the café latte (too boring) to the non-fat cinnamon dolce latte ( too many syllables) to the non fat, sugar free no whip mocha. That’s a lot to remember for anyone (although my students seem to have committed it to memory quite well, mmmm).
Anyway, one day Hubby returns home, Starbucks in hand, and tells me just how awkward he felt standing in a mostly female line. He says he ordered my “foo-foo” coffee and then in a much louder (deeper) voice said, “and I’ll take a plain coffee extra large, extra hot, no sleeve!” (Because macho dudes don’t need sissy sleeves to keep their hands from burning)
Our standard party joke, always good for a laugh:
Me: “I take my coffee like my men; sweet and hot.”
Hubby: “I like my coffee strong and bitter, just like my woman.”
Thanks, hon. He’s joking, right?
Right?
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