It may not have been a determining factor, but it certainly drew my attention to DOB as having Good Husband Potential: he didn't drink coffee. In law school, such fellows were few and far between. (In fact, to date I've never met a law student without a caffeine dependence of some sort.)
Though I have been accused of it, I really don't have some deep religious conviction against caffeine. I eat chocolate with a clear conscience, and can bring myself to sip a cup of tea on occasion. I just don't like coffee. Don't like the smell of it; don't like the taste of it. I lived 24 years in the Puget Sound region, sitting at coffee shops, watching everyone else drinking coffee, without ever wanting to drink it. So it was a relief to think I could marry a man who would not insist on stinking up the house with a pot of it every morning.
Then came last Thursday. I drove into the office for an afternoon meeting. DOB was still in his previous meeting, but he came bounding in a few minutes late.
"Coffee is really good!" he said.
I reeled in horror at the betrayal. What did this mean? How could this have happened to us?
He went on to explain. Their quick pre-lunch meeting had gone for three hours; they were at a coffee shop with nothing to eat. He had decided to try a mocha. It was good. He felt good, despite not having eaten lunch.
I smiled quietly to myself. I had seen what even small amounts of chocolate on an empty stomach did to him. I had nothing to fear.
"Let's see what you think of it at 6:30," I said.
A few hours passed. We were driving home. I could see DOB beginning to wilt with the letdown.
"I don't ever want to drink coffee again," he said.
I murmured sympathetic things and took him home and fed him dinner.
We still have no coffee at our house. All is well.