That's a bold opening.
I know I've got to tread lightly here. Deb is not only the mother of my children, she's also a regular reader of this blog (I believe that makes 7.)
So let me start out by saying how wonderful she is. Beautiful, easygoing, and as I'm often told, saint-like (considering how I can be a colossal asswipe.) ( I just Googled that phrase and no one in the history of mankind has ever referred to themselves using that particular set of words.)
On top of all that she has a great sense of humor.
But my wife drinks tea.
I drink coffee.
Moreover, she despises coffee.
Almost as much as I despise tea. This, despite my Scottish heritage.
Other men have fantasies about French maids. Or a menage-a-trois. Or even something involving a catcher's mask. I don't.
I dream of what life would have been like had I married a woman who loves coffee as much as I do. And waking up every morning to a fresh-brewed pot of Breakfast Blend.
When is Father's Day?
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