Tea Bags
Created | Updated Mar 30, 2002
Mark et. al: Don't bother reading this one thing I've submitted for rejection. It stinks. Wish I could crumple it up and throw it away. It was more personal than "Guideish". NEXT!
Tea bags serve a wonderful purpose: To make you stare angrily into your microwaved mug at your desk at work, made with some water and bits of weeds that Lipton put in a tea bag, damning the office tradition of providing all the nasty, smelly coffee free of charge to any employee who wants it, yet which completely ignores the tea drinker. (If a pot, kettle or “hot pot” for plain hot water is provided at all, it invariably reeks and tastes of old coffee stains.)
Soon, your anger is slowly replaced with a wistful “Hmmm”-like smile and the thought of going back home and making a pot of real tea: putting a kettle to boil, chatting with your mother or maybe two friends in your kitchen while it boils, the pot-warming ritual, the soft little dropping-tinkle-tap-tap as the loose leaves (whatever you prefer, earl grey, or english breakfast are a very good start) hit the pot and the “wooosh” of the boiling water, while you prepare to tuck the whole thing under a tea cosy (tenderly, like your very favorite doll-baby), then smiling at your guests -- as if the short 2-3 minute wait while the tea leaves fall to the bottom of the pot is some sort of club secret. And then you know you’d like nothing more than the spend the rest of the morning sitting at your kitchen table, sharing that pot of tea until its all gone and you’ve just got that funny little pile of þat soggy leaves at the bottom of your cup. And although you know your mother is chewing on her leaves on the sly, you choose not to notice or embarress her, but rather, put a fresh pot of water on to boil once again.
And with that happy diversion in mind, you’re not quite so angry at the wrinkled tea bag on your desk at work, and you can get back to doing whatever is is you were doing before you started to dream of real tea.
Off the Paths of Righteousness
Tea bags serve a wonderful purpose: To make you stare angrily into your microwaved mug at your desk at work, made with some water and bits of weeds that Lipton put in a tea bag, damning the office tradition of providing all the nasty, smelly coffee free of charge to any employee who wants it, yet which completely ignores the tea drinker. (If a pot, kettle or “hot pot” for plain hot water is provided at all, it invariably reeks and tastes of old coffee stains.)
Soon, your anger is slowly replaced with a wistful “Hmmm”-like smile and the thought of going back home and making a pot of real tea: putting a kettle to boil, chatting with your mother or maybe two friends in your kitchen while it boils, the pot-warming ritual, the soft little dropping-tinkle-tap-tap as the loose leaves (whatever you prefer, earl grey, or english breakfast are a very good start) hit the pot and the “wooosh” of the boiling water, while you prepare to tuck the whole thing under a tea cosy (tenderly, like your very favorite doll-baby), then smiling at your guests -- as if the short 2-3 minute wait while the tea leaves fall to the bottom of the pot is some sort of club secret. And then you know you’d like nothing more than the spend the rest of the morning sitting at your kitchen table, sharing that pot of tea until its all gone and you’ve just got that funny little pile of þat soggy leaves at the bottom of your cup. And although you know your mother is chewing on her leaves on the sly, you choose not to notice or embarress her, but rather, put a fresh pot of water on to boil once again.
And with that happy diversion in mind, you’re not quite so angry at the wrinkled tea bag on your desk at work, and you can get back to doing whatever is is you were doing before you started to dream of real tea.
