I wanted to make an observation of my relationship with coffee.
I had to drive my father to the garage where his truck was being inspected Tuesday last week, because, despite what he would like us all to think, even he is not capable of driving two cars at the same time. So he needed a lift. From me. I had to get up a whole hour early in order to be able to drive him where he needed to be and be back where I needed to be in order to be on time for work.
That’s a lot of being.
You know those women (yes, you do, don’t deny it) who constantly, at every turn, ask “Baby, are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? What’s wrong? Are you mad? Baby, are you okay?” (Insert whatever term of endearment you prefer – but you get my point)
The kind you’re tempted to turn around and roar at: “I WASN’T, BUT I AM NOW!” and proceed to viciously rip their head off?
Yeah. You know them.
My father was like that that morning. “Now you’re mad ’cause you have to drive me, right? No? Then what’s wrong? Is everything okay? See, you are mad. You’re not? Why are you acting like you are then?”
It continued until I finally just told him, “It’s ’cause it’s early.”
He fell silent for about 0.27 seconds before making that really annoying noise of revelation, that obnoxious, all-knowing sort of “Ahhhhhhhhh…”
“It’s because you haven’t had your coffee yet, isn’t it?”
Oh. Well. Actually…
“Yeah, yeah it is,” I was forced to acknowledge before returning to a terse silence punctuated only by the occasional directions my father provided.
So, apparently, I am a lot more dependent on my morning coffee than I ever thought I would be, or realized I was. I guess, in a way, I depend on it to make me more human.
Before my coffee, my brows are drawn together, my words are short and terse, everything annoys me, and don’t get in my way. But I’m not mad at anyone. I can’t explain it other than, “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
I can’t be the only one, can I?