And…I went with my Dad. *insert laugh track*
You might guess my father was the one convincing his tween-aged daughter into accompanying him to this Jazz concert, but you would be sorely mistaken. I begged him to go.
Not Rick Springfield.
Nary a Black Sabbath head banging experience.
I wanted the best music I had ever heard…the fabulous four with impeccable harmonies. To ease your clenching gut or acidic buildup in your throat, I did go to ZZ Top later and was kidnapped by drunken strangers for about 5 minutes – but that is for another post.
Friends might call me an old
fogey soul. My adoration of the old-fashioned has been a characteristic of mine for years. I’m not referring to the cocktail because I tried one of those recently, and just thinking of scotchy-scotch sets my gag reflex in motion.
As a nerdy kid, I listened to jazz and Broadway tunes, when my friends where singing to the Top 40. Crocheting and knitting were hobbies of mine when others were riding bikes and playing kickball. When my teen-aged friends had Shawn Cassidy and Leif Garrett pinned up on their walls, I HAD THOSE TOO!
Come on, I had hormones! Those two were HOT!! But in addition to those, I had a life-sized poster of Fred Astaire tap dancing in “Top Hat” right next to them.
So it shouldn’t be surprising when it comes to my coffee, I prefer the home brewed and not the big-named franchises. Java Man, Joe (aka my hubby) wakes up every morning, carefully grinds my beans, stirs my fluids and he gives this gal just what I need. A big, hot, cup of sumpin’ delish! I love a man who gets it right, don’t you?!
He doesn’t use the most expensive bean, but he knows my limits on powerful taste – so when I later drag myself out of bed straight to the coffee pot, the Munchkin’s Daddy-O has outdone himself once more.
One morning it was made clear again when my hubby and I had 40 minutes to kill in between attending our daughters’ school lunches.
We stopped at the coffee joint located on every corner in America for a ridiculous priced cup of Joe. During our relaxing conversation, Hubby ordered his standard engineer beverage – black and hot, just like he likes his…coffee. I decided to go the festive route and try something out of the norm.
A Pumpkin Latte would have been my autumn standby, but the photo of the Peppermint Mocha Latte next to the counter was reeling me in. The picture had whipped topping, covered with crushed peppermint and chocolate bits. I could hardly breathe.
Then I began having visions of sugarplums dancing in my head, transporting me into the role of Clara in the Nutcracker.
“Run, Clara, run!” the voices in my head sang to me.
While I ran in a circle mid-stage in my long, flowing nightgown holding up my precious new toy from Godfather Drosselmeyer, the smell of coffee beans whirled through the air.
“Mmm. Wah?” I sputtered wiping away my drool.
“Stace, what do you want?” my hubby asked, oblivious to ruining my incredible daydream.
“I’ll have the Peppermint Mocha…Skinny,” I said with a sheepish smile and naïveté of a young ballerina.
Moments later when the hipster called my name, with my steaming biodegradable cup of splendor, I envisioned this as my curtain call. My bouquet of roses handed from the orchestra pit below. I nodded my head to thanked the Barista, instead of the deep bow and tossed kisses to the audience I felt necessary.
After all, I didn’t want to scare the poor lad. What if I wanted another cup of coffee?
Hubby and I sunk into our chairs and talked about life and things that only young persons with decent memory recall might remember. It was a lovely moment alone for us. Without interruptions. Without whiny kids in the background.
As we drove back to the elementary school to sit with our other munchkin during her lunch period, I asked my hubby if he liked his coffee.
He said it was OK, but he also informed me that his was only $1.50 and my fru-fru drink was over $5.00.
To make him feel better about how he was spending his hard earned cash, I informed him, “Mine tasted like feet. And not even Christmasy feet.”
The Manhattan Transfer are timeless. They understood me back when I was a youngster and still do today:
‘Cause I love the Java Man and he loves me.
Does your partner do anything special for you that makes you thankful? Or something you wish they would do.
If you enjoyed this, please join me on FACEBOOK for coffee and cinnamon rolls.