The beautiful coffee man

I love beautiful men - and by this I mean I love the visuals of beautiful men. I have no need to know them or talk to them - I blatantly objectfy them and enjoy them in private.

Which is not to say I fantasize about them - I don't - I just love the aesthetics of beautiful men.

The man who makes the coffee at the cafe I go to every Sunday is such a man, but he's more than that as well; he makes the second best coffee in Melbourne - Sofia in South Melbourne makes the best, but that's a whole different story.

In the years I've been going to Camberwell Market and getting a coffee to sip slowly as I walk around, the beautiful man and I have developed a friendship. Its a little friendship; he tells me about his kids and asks me about mine - we talk a little about music and dance and the weather - he's a nice person AND he's beautiful.

The Sunday before last I had to stop at the ATM on my way to get coffee and as I did so I noticed a new cafe and so I grabbed a coffee there instead. I felt bad, I felt disloyal and I was strangely pleased when this more expensive coffee was shallow and nasty. It made my treachery feel justly rewarded.

Later on my trip around the market I needed to use the bathroom and so I went back to the beautiful man cafe because their bathroom is clean and always smells of flowers! I tried to sneak in but he saw me and waved as I went through into the stairwell. I sneaked out feeling bad.

Last Sunday, lesson well learned, I went back to get my coffee and was greeted with, "and what exactly happened to you last week, young lady!"

I am no longer young so this complement was a lovely addition to my morning and so much nicer than being called a 'girl' which I so patently no longer am.

he has seen me go up to the bathroom and had made my coffee but I had not returned to collect it - what had happened.

I did the only thing I could: I fessed up and told him the whole ugly story and then I walked into the market sipping the second best coffee in Melbourne!