People complain when men objectify women. Do you think they would care if I sexualize an object?
Because I feel the need to say you are one hot piece of equipment.
You were a risk to me. You looked good. I didn’t know if I could handle you. Pump, milk frother, plug business: I knew there would be maintenance issues.
The social dynamic scared the hell out of me too. No more barista banter? No more drinking in public? Really?
Friends influenced me. Some said you may not be pro enough. If you’re taking one home, they said, get the super model.
But I was ready and I knew it from the length of time I gave to your instructions.
You are super and you make me super too.
Do you know how hard I tried to get the right grinder for you? Hours surfing consumer reviews on Amazon, like some caffeine-crazed Laird Hamilton. Dedicated expeditions to Oxford Street. Not one, but two faulty Krups machines; John Lewis really needs to sort out their kitchen department.
Jug, thermometer, stainless steel tamper: I haven’t been cheap. I want you to feel alive- like the crema you push through the tiny holes in your cup filter is at the very core of who you are.
I will never fill you with stale beans.
When I have sponged you down tonight and you take a rest- which you really deserve- I want you to know how you make me feel.
With you I am Humphrey Bogart. I’m a Parisian tart wearing suspenders, in a smoke-filled dive. I am a bespoke-suited, middle-aged Italian outside a café in Venice. I am an intellectual in the rain. I am so bloody grown up.
And I’m thinking up good things, really fast.