The Peculiar Demands of Hot Beverages

The other day I was discussing stopping by The Man's work and he says, sheepishly, 'Don't be surprised if my co-workers ask you to do a moose call.'

What?

I actually know why he said this.  It's me who is the weirdo here, not The Man's coworkers.

I don't want to brag, but my moose call is Hilarious.  And private.  I only let people who have come from the inside of my body (and the one who put me in the awkward position of having people inside of me) hear my moose call because it's not flattering.  It's loud and shocking, designed to make small sad children a little less sad. 

You may think that making moose calls is a strange way of cheering up children, but try it.  An awkward and sudden moose call can do wonders to lift a mood.  I also use it bribe the children into doing chores sometimes.  Like, 'if you clean the bathroom, I'll make a moose call.'  It works.  As I said, my moose is Hilarious and worth a little toilet scrubbing.

It's also worth, apparently, a little bragging about at work.  Like, 'My wife's moose call is better than your wife's moose call,' or whatever it is that guys sit around in the lunch room competing over.  Or maybe he was just being sweet and fondly talking about how awesome I am at moose calls while chuckling over the water cooler?  Maybe they often talk of moose calls at work and it was inevitable that mine would be brought up?  Because it is, as has been mentioned, Hilarious.

Now I am studiously avoiding The Man's work.  I still haven't recovered from the whole thirty seconds of roller derby that The Man showed his boss and coworkers of me playing in a tournament when I was accidently pantsed by a teammate.  ('Nice beige granny panties, honey!'  THOSE WEREN'T PANTIES!)

Here, look at Tiny Cat for a moment while you seriously do not think about what I just said.

Actually, there might be a tragic lack of entertainment during coffee breaks considering The Man also likes to talk about my hot beverage preferences. 

My hot beverage preferences are, admittedly, a little quirky.  A little exact.  And if the beverage isn't just like I want it, I feel betrayed and sort of like my day is ruined and what's-the-point-of-it-all-anyway ennui sets in and I have to go lay on my face for awhile.  Hot beverages are important to me.

For example, I like my coffee hot.  My first cup of the pot, after adding a precise amount of cream and butter, must be heated for exactly thirty seconds in the microwave.  Unless you are The Man, and are leaving the coffee on my bedside chair (yes, a chair, not a table) in the morning, and then it'll have to go in for a minute so in that the three minutes it take for me to wake up enough to drag myself upright to take a sip, it will have cooled enough but not too much.  If it's too cold, I can't drink it and will have to warm it up and then cream will make a congealed film on top that I have to scrap and then WHATSTHEPOINTOFITALLANYWAY?

The second cup does not need to be heated, because the cup is warm from the first already (back to back coffees) unless it cooled a bit  because it's been a little while since I finished, which if you place the cream in the cup (no butter this time) and then put the cup on top of the coffee machine to stay warm, then it's already perfect when the cup is finally poured sometime in the near future.

You will not be surprised to learn that only certain mugs are 'approved' for my use.  I rank cups along volume, weight, handle shape and cleverness. 

I also like hot cocoa, but I prefer dutch processed cocoa powder, exactly one heaping (super heaping) tea spoon into a half cup of boiling water (boiled on stove in kettle) and mixed in with coconut milk or heavy cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon and sixteen drops of stevia from a fresh bottle, seventeen drops if the bottle has been open for a couple weeks.  Mix well and fill the rest of the cup up with remaining water from the kettle.  Now, it must be hotted, so into the microwave for one minute twenty seconds.  No longer because it will already be bubbling ominously and about to flow over the sides like lava spewing from a chocolate volcano.  I like my cocoa to be so hot it takes a layer of skin off the roof of my mouth. 

Cocoa is my evening drink sometimes but before bed I like to have hot lemon, which is half a lemon squeezed into a mug, along with a quarter teaspoon each of cinnamon and nutmeg, a baby toe size wedge of ginger and filled with hot water.  But no need to heat the hot water any further, because I like to drink it up in just a couple gulps so it merely has to be hot.

I won't get into my afternoon tea for time and space reasons but you can assume there are some rigorous guidelines around that as well.

The way The Man tells it at work, I think his buddies consider him to be a living saint having to put up with someone with such maddening specifications for making coffee.  Around here, it doesn't do to fix me a cup of tea just to be nice.  No, you need training for that.

To balance this rigidity on hot beverages, I defend, I am incredibly relaxed on topics like housekeeping and yard maintenance.  Or where the children are. 

On some level, I think my hot beverage preferences (laws) have kept our relationship strong these past seventeen years.  I have changed my recipes over time but my desire for a consistent experience has not changed.  Having The Man trained up to specifications and, more importantly, the recognition of the importance of hot beverages to my mental well-being keeps here and working whenever we go through rough patches.  I mean, good help with hot beverages is so hard to find.

With this in mind, I asked The Man why he puts up with my hot beverage nonsense, bringing me coffee nearly every morning.  I expected him to say something about how he loves me and wants to do nice things but instead I got, 'It's my first line of defense for the children every day.' 

What? 

Like he's being a good dad by caffeinating Mom before the children wake?  But what does he think I'll do if I do not have a cup or two of coffee in me?  Satan blood rituals with the children as sacrifices?  Run screaming around the house, violently throwing cups and cats?  Or maybe I'll simply fall to get up to attend to the hundreds of things needed to be done each day before noon?  Frankly, I'm a little insulted.

Maybe I should rethink these past seventeen years.  Right after The Man fixes me a cup of joe.