In amidst all the shitty shit and the mucky muck that makes up this cruel world, I figured I’d go back to the simple things in life and feel happy once more. You are one of those things.
We all need our psychological creature comforts. The little joys that keep us from dive-bombing under our duvet in despair at the state of the planet every single day. The small but comforting rituals, without which I would most certainly be fused to the couch by my skin, not having left my gaff in years, watching Netflix comedy specials on an infinite loop to avoid any contamination from the outside world. So, dear Tea, I want to let you know that you are not forgotten. You are my rock. When I think of you my soul be like:
Now, I realise I may be putting a fairly sizeable emotional investment in something to which a lot of people don’t give more than a passing thought on the regular – but I don’t deal with those people. They don’t know you like we do. Your followers are many. We walk among the living and the dead-inside, clutching vessels (or what mere mortals call takeaway cups) containing your essence, our emotional anchor, as we go about our daily business. When it comes to coping with the outside world, I’ll take whatever support I can get, thank you very much.
Look Tea, I know in the past sometimes I’ve been so stressed out and forgetful that I’ve set you up only to let you down with a bang; I’ve been guilty of the cardinal sin of having you and the sugar sitting in the mug, ready to be showered with the bliss of boiling water, only to walk off and leave you hanging, unsatisfied, unfulfilled. My dear Tea, I indeed plead guilty to causing you Blue Bags. Please forgive me. I vow to follow through every time from now on. I will never waste The Pretty again.
We’ve had our ups & downs lately, you and I. Like that time up at the train station last week when the woman behind the counter at AMT was all up in your grill, wanting to put the milk in for me instead of letting me take care of you like I always do when we’re out and about. You could have cut the tension with a knife. She came between us that day, causing a rift that I feared would never heal. I got you back in the end (after deciding to get a Danish pastry as well) and we reconnected once more, but there was something different this time. You had been changed by your encounter with that milk-monopolising harridan. I thought I’d lost you, my precious Tea. But, thanks to the healing power of time and a little help from Mother Nature, all would soon be well again.
On last Sunday morning, I found myself surfing the crimson wave. Attending the Red Wedding. Getting the painters in. On the Hunt for Red October. You get my drift. I hope. Once Bloody Mary had me in her evil grip, I was powerless. All I had at my disposal were tears, cramps and raging hormones. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. “MAKE THYSELF A CUP OF TEA”, one of Ye Olde voices in my head muttered into my couch-planted ear. So I extracted myself from the couch, and walked over to where you were. With a renewed sense of intimacy, we did our little ritual and dance until once again, lover and beloved were reunited. No human contact would do. Just me, holding you, feeling your warmth, giving me comfort like no mere mortal ever could.
So where to from here with you and I? Who knows. I’m excited for the future. I have my eye on a gorgeous takeaway mug in Tiger that would be so stunning on you, so if they have it your size I may get it for you for Christmas. But I know one thing, we’ll always be together, through thick and thin (or full-fat and semi-skimmed). Until the day I die, my love for you will never end. Tea, you truly are the one for me. You make me want to be a better tea-drinker. J’adore.
NOTE: Anyone who thinks UHT is a good substitute in their hot beverages is a fucking tasteless charlatan and courier of broken dreams. No exceptions.