The coffee dilemma

Twenty-plus years of marriage with Christmases, Valentine's Days, and anniversaries has long-ago put my husband in a bit of a tough spot.

The question "What do you want for Christmas this year?" means he doesn't know what to get me.  He has a list of items he shouldn't buy.  No kitchen or household appliances (ever), no jewelry unless he's seen me go "ooooooh!" at that specific piece, and nothing that might make me say "Baby, How am I supposed to fit into this!?"

That he tries makes me happy.  That he wants to make me happy makes me happy.  Perhaps it's the little girl in me that wants to open up a present from him, squeal and get teary over his ability to find the perfect gift.  Considering how many years we've been together and how many times he's had to buy gifts, it's no wonder he's running out of ideas.

Enter my latest answer.  I saw it in a movie.  The man could have anything he wanted.  The CIA or NSA or some secretive government agency promised they would give it to him.  His answer?  "Peace on Earth and good will to everyone."  I laugh every time I think of this scene.

My new answer to "What do you want this year?" has also been "Peace on Earth and good will to everyone."  Which gets me laughs, eye-rolling, "Where do I buy that?", and "No, seriously."  I've asked for "Peace on Earth" over the past several years, and dear husband, your "I'll see what I can do" has been much appreciated.  Let's try something else this year.  My dearest, I need you to solve a problem for me.  That can be my Christmas present.  My problem?  Coffee.

"How is that a problem?"  You'll say.  "You gave up coffee years ago."  To which I would reply, "I know.  That's my problem."  You would ask for clarification.  I would offer the following scenario.

I'm visiting someone.  It could be a business meeting or a friend.  Out come the drinks and snacks.  I'm almost never asked what I'd like to drink.  My track record to date, 50-50 between coffee and green tea.  Half of the time I'm served coffee, which means that cup sits in front of me untouched and I feel bad for not drinking it and my host feels bad for serving me something I clearly don't like. 

This is not good.  This is a problem.  I'm given a drink, a western drink, and I'm supposed to drink it.  That I don't drink coffee is really not the point.  I show proper appreciation for their hospitality by drinking it.  Period.

Let's go back three-plus years.  I'm on a flight, flipping through one of the many magazines I always brought along.  Never having time to read them at home, I would save them up for my once-a-month business trips and go through all of them, donating them to the flight attendants at the end of the flight.  One article caught my eye.  "Green Tea is Good For You."  Well, duh.  I knew this.  I've always known this.  Something happened that day.  It was an "a-ha" moment.  The switch that had been half-on for years offering a flickering light officially snapped into the ON position.  I was switching to green tea.  Enough with the coffee.  This was for real.  I was done with coffee.  For good.

My coffee-problems were as follows:  a). I would add a bit of coffee to my cream, and b). I would inevitably get called away from my desk just as I had made myself the perfect cup of coffee, only to return when it was cold and slightly bitter.  I would then drink that cold, slightly bitter, no longer warm and comforting cup of coffee, because I needed the caffeine.

Let's acknowledge here for a moment an important point.  Cream is essentially 100% fat.  I'm not kidding when I say I added coffee to my cream.  This means, I was essentially drinking quite a few cups of serious (albeit very yummy) fat  everyday.  We all know what that kind of fat-consumption does to certain body parts.

So, admitting I was drinking coffee for it's caffeine content and also knowing I wanted to live longer than continual fat-ingestion would probably allow, that day in that airplane seat, I gave up coffee.

Dear husband,

Herein lines the problem.  I know better than to outright tell those who serve me coffee "Sorry, I don't drink coffee."  Coffee has not touched my lips in many years and you've heard me say I don't miss it one bit.  My butt has shrunk after giving up my many cups of coffee-cream concoction.  What do I do then when cans and cups of coffee appear in front of me?  Yesterday I fake-drank a cup, only after repeatedly being told "Drink up.  It's getting cold," and knowing I couldn't ignore the now lukewarm cup any longer.  This problem needs fixing, and for once, I'm all out of ideas.  If you can solve this dilemma for me, I'll consider it a year's worth of presents.  Do something.  I really don't want to go back to coffee.  Help me please.

Your adoring wife