It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m in the mood for a fluffy post.
I was running late yesterday, and I asked my husband if he’d be willing to make my morning latte. He makes excellent coffee. Which is intriguing, because he doesn’t drink it, himself. In fact, he thinks that it’s the work of the devil and won’t touch it (except when I’m running late and he makes it for me).
He does a thousand things. He’s brilliant. He’s a fantastic dad. He cleans the toilets and the garage. But somehow making my morning latte on days when I really do not want to leave the house, is, for me, the essence of romance.
It’s the acceptance that I can like things that he hates. To even go a step beyond and figure out how to make really good lattes, even though he doesn’t understand the appeal. The willingness to be inconvenienced, and not berate me for being in a bad mood. The small gesture that is the perfect manifestation of true love.
featured image from Princess Bride
.latte art by minzkind
cappuccino with heart by Wendi Dunlap
Love in a cup by Katy Stoddard