I take my coffee like how I take my men: sweet and weak. However, usually when a guy makes me coffee at his house, it only comes in one flavor: rocket-fuel exhaust. It's thick, strong, and bitter; yuck!
When I ask for a little bit of milk, he usually apologizes then looks down bashfully. "Sorry, babe. No milk. Is it cool if you just take it black?" I try to choke it down, but I usually toss it down the drain as soon as he turns his back.
However, once in a blue moon, he'll be like, "Yeah, here you go," and he'll produce some fresh milk from the fridge. Fuck yeah! Now we're talkin' here. It's such a small thing, but his milk-preparedness definitely makes me wanna come back. And, that just makes me glad.