Dating : Coffee & Men

“You deserve a lover who takes away the lies and brings you hope, coffee, and poetry.”- Frida Kahlo

I love coffee as much (maybe more) than I love men. I was a late-bloomer. Didn’t start drinking it until my mid 20s. In high school, I was a tea-fanatic. I drank English breakfast with my Russian boyfriend when I was 16. He bought the real tea, the loose leaves and drained it into a cup. I loved the sound of the kettle whistling and watching him glide around my kitchen with his long legs and broad shoulders. Strong and agile, yet romantic and just so… Russian. He knew how I liked my tea.

Then, in my 20s, I found coffee. And I never went back to tea (or my Russian boyfriend, who broke my heart, but that’s another story).

Coffee, the morning elixir of life, the most popular, natural anti-depressant there is. The beverage of choice for the hopeless romantics.

I can’t function, nor wish to function, without it.

But also, I don’t read tea- leaves, I read coffee-grinds. Well, coffee –behavior, rather.

How does a man bring you coffee?

Does he bring it to you in bed? Does he ask you how you like it? Does he make it how he likes it or how you like it? These are all questions you can ask yourself the first time you spend the night with a man and you wake up in his bed and find out who he really is.

I dated an older man for a year who only drank tea. He’d wake up at the crack of dawn and start obsessively making phone calls (I never figured out who he was calling), but they seemed like very important calls. I don’t know how he had all that energy after only drinking tea. He’d offer me tea and I’d say no thanks. Then I’d walk to Main street in Santa Monica and go to Groundworks and get my own coffee, thank you very much. I’d call my friend Mindy and we’d walk to the ocean and drink our coffee sitting in our dresses in the sand.

I dated a guy for two years who always brought me coffee in bed. He made really good coffee too. He always asked how I liked it, always listened. We both drank it non-stop all day. One time, I accidentally spilled some on his bed and he erupted in a fit of rage. “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING??” I wasn’t really thinking anything except, “Yay coffee!” And then, “Oops!” He was enraged. I was scared.

Also, he always made sure I knew what a “kind” gesture bringing me coffee was. “Not a lot of guys are going to make you coffee like this….” You mean with an addendum to go with it?

I sure hope not.

I have a guy friend who I see about once a year. He drinks his coffee black and has never had cream. Every year I ask, “Do you have cream this time?” And every year he says, “Nope.” What kind of friend-with-benefits doesn’t have cream?! (The kind who drinks Tequila for breakfast). He’s charming though and kind, so once a year I’ll drink black coffee with tequila. You gotta live a little.

The last guy I dated also brought me coffee in bed. I think we both had equal respect for the subject. We joked that, “Whoever wakes up first makes the coffee!” He once visited me in NYC at my aunt’s apt. and she only had the real beans. He tried grinding them and they ended up flying out and landing on the floor. Unlike the guy who freaked out over a mess, he and I both reveled in the chaos, and there was something oddly endearing about watching this tall, lanky man frantically cleaning up coffee beans from the floor. My fondest memories of him are laughing while drinking coffee in bed. And even though he turned out to be the biggest player I’ve ever dated, I convinced myself that he didn’t bring every woman coffee in bed. (But I guess I’ll never know). Coffee in bed feels like a promise, but its aroma only lingers for so long.

He liked to put turmeric powder in his coffee and one time I said, “I don’t want turmeric in mine this time.” He said OK and then still put turmeric in it. A small oversight, but still a sure-tell sign that my needs did not matter to him. He did things his way regardless of my wants or feelings. Coffee was always going to be on his terms, in or out of bed, with or without me.

I met up with an old friend recently whom I’ve always had feelings for. We had one fling many moons ago and then he disappeared, only to reappear about once a year to “check in.” I saw him recently for coffee. He didn’t want to sit though. So we held our coffee and walked around Greenwich village chatting until the sun went down and he walked me to my show. I thought how much better it would have tasted if I could sit across from him while we drank it. Stay awhile. But he was never one for staying. Oh well. Sometimes coffee is just a way to pass briefly in the night. A sip here, a chat there. It took him 5 years to even ask me to coffee. But it was a little too late, and the coffee tasted stale.

So, I’m still waiting. For that perfect guy who knows how to make the coffee just right. Who listens to how I like it and who will be happy to bring it to me just so (a little bit of almond milk or oat milk, no sugar, no guilt, no shame, no anger, just love). You can call me Princess & the Coffee, but I don’t think it’s asking for too much.