Earlier this week, Tony, who doesn't usually drink coffee, made coffee and brought it to me in bed.
I, of course, was terribly insulted that he would dare think I couldn't make coffee myself. I mean, the nerve of him trying to anticipate my wants and dare I say needs.
So, I grunted at him and took my cup back downstairs. I poured the coffee in the sink and put the mug in the cabinet. Then, I proceeded to dump the coffee pot and filter. I remade the coffee, retrieved the mug, and poured a new cup of coffee all by myself, thank you very much.
At least that is what I would have done if I was two. However, I'm well past the "I-do-it" stage. If someone (hint, hint Tony) wants to make me coffee and serve it to me in bed. Well then, I would graciously accept it.