She hadn't meant for it to turn out red. Bright red, at that. It was the silly result of a silly mistake, the product of her hand picking out the wrong box. Now, her once warm and lovely brunette tresses were replaced by a raging fire that attacked her from all angles. Her eyes burned with it every time she looked in the mirror.
He wasn't helping, either. In the mornings after he'd come limping down the hallway to greet her, and let out a hearty shout of 'Fire!', then ask why the smoke detector wasn't working. She loved that man, but she'd never quite get used to his chiding brand of torture.
Perhaps this morning things had changed a bit; he emerged from the kitchen with a cup of steaming coffee in hand. She rose from the table prepared to make her own, but he set the drink down in front of her. She stared at his unshaven face for a long time, as this was completely out of character for him. All the same, she lifted it to her lips with a smile of gratitude. He smiled back.
However, she began to choke on it. She set the cup down, glaring daggers at her smug-looking husband.
Irish coffee. He'd given her Irish coffee as yet another way to tease her about her fiery red hair.
"Top o' the morning to you, m'lady," he said in the finest Irish accent he could muster.