My Dear Brooding Sir,
In the mornings you have a ritual of making tea. I was not a big tea drinker myself except for the occasional fruity and herbal teas steeped from a bag. We had plans for the day, and you wanted to go shower and get ready. Mindful of the time, I volunteered to make your tea.
You gave me the world’s quickest tea making tutorial then went off to do your daily ablutions. I remember looking at the tea leaves, the kettle, the mugs, and thought to myself, “Okay piece of cake.” I set off to make my Sir his morning tea. I was happy.
When you came into kitchen looking and smelling damn fine, I had your cup of tea ready. You came over and hugged and kissed me. You smiled and thanked me for making your tea. I watched you take your first sip. Then you took another. You told me that I made really good tea, and that it tasted better than when you made it. We started cooking breakfast with you intermittently sipping your tea. I think you got suspicious after a time, because you asked me how I made the tea exactly. I showed you what I had done. You started laughing. I asked you what was so funny. You explained that I used 3 times as many tea leaves that you did, so no wonder it tasted so good. I became exasperated because you never said how much to use (I guessed), but you just kissed me again and told me it was fine.
I took the tea strainer and pot over to the sink to clean them. You told me that you just throw the wet, used tea leaves out in the garden. “You’ll see where,” you said. I took the pot out to the garden and looked around. I walked around looking for the obvious tea leaf graveyard. I started feeling foolish because I couldn’t see where you threw the damp leaves. After taking two turns around the garden, I decided that it didn’t matter where I threw the leaves. I took off the lid and hurled the wet mass. Evidently I throw like a girl, because that soggy mound went flying and hit the side of the garage. It stuck to it briefly before it slid down the wall to the ground leaving a slick trail. I was relieved that there weren’t any witnesses to see my disgraceful treatment of innocent tea leaves.
As I turned to go back into the house, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. There was Maisy staring at me with her mouth open in disbelief. I’m sure she was trying to figure out what this dumb American was attempting to do by tossing tea leaves at the garage. I smiled and waved and hurried inside.
When I confessed to you what I had done and the nosy eyewitness, you laughed and laughed and laughed some more. You apologized for not showing me where to put those leaves. You were sitting on a chair by the table and continued to laugh. You said to me, “Come here.” I walked over to you and you put your arms around me and kissed the daylights out of me for who knows how long. Needless to say, I forgot about the tea, the leaves, the garage, the beast next door, and even what day it was.
My Infused Darling
You made a damn fine cup of tea. I know it was not your beverage of choice and being a tea heathen your only experience was with the bagged variety.
I remember quite fondly that moment when you told me the Maisy Beast had witnessed your assault with a deadly tea leaf on my garage wall. If it was one of your fruit or herbal teas I could actually describe it as a drive by fruiting. I still long to see the look on her face at the moment of impact. She would have been torn between racing to the phone to alert the media and standing firm to stare at you down in an attempt at humiliation.
Thank goodness she was of an age where new technology was slow to be adopted. She didn’t own a mobile phone and even a cordless phone would have been beyond her comprehension. How happy she would have been to be on said phone/s gossiping to her friends while witnessing your transgression. It would have been Maisy Beast Nirvana.
Back to the tea however. Being a man means more is always better, to put it quite simply “more is more.” More air in the tyres – better. More food on my plate – better. More wine in my glass – better. More tea in my pot – well of course it had to be better?
Come back to me my Darling. I’d love a cup of tea, and only you can make it how I like it.
From Sir With Love
©2014 Darling and Sir