Have some kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.
And they weren’t wrong. Every stage has been my favorite. I loved the newborn noodle stage. I loved the toddler exploration. I loved the sweet little kids and the awkward preteens. After some practice, I grew to love the teenage blossoming. Now I’m grooving on Darling Daughter being Almost To Adulthood. Sometimes it amazes me that she herself is still all of those stages rolled into one highly awesome young lady. She has her own goals, her own ambitions, and her own tastes. And boy, is she a snob.
A TEA snob. Oh sure, she’s loved Boba Tea ever since she was knee high to a grasshopper. She’ll even drink iced tea if there’s enough sugar around. But this school year is when she became a full fledged snob. One of our fine MHS faculty introduced her to Harney and Sons tea. I’ll admit, it’s pretty fine stuff. Me, I’m perfectly happy with some good Darjeeling and a slice of lemon—does that make me OG? Don’t answer that. I can almost hear the teenage eyes rolling in their sockets from here. She’s collecting H&S varieties like it’s going out of style. She’s got her eye on a special kettle that allows you to control the water temperature for a better brew. I’m considering getting her a Chinese tea set with the little pottery critter and some high dollar tea, but I’m not ready to part with my spare kidney yet.
She’ll even drink tea when we’re not at home. Imagine her rapture when, last week at my brand new great-nephew’s baptism (he’s a newborn noodle and I’m loving every second I get to hold him), she discovered that the church hospitality committee had put out a kettle of hot water and tea bags. She almost skipped back to the table, pulled the tea bag from its little paper sleeve, and dropped it into her cup. Mind you, I didn’t pay much attention to exactly what kind she got. I was pretty sure that it was from the Twinings variety box, possibly bought when she was a noodle herself.
Soon enough, the tea had steeped to an acceptable color. She took the bag out and took a small sip. She made a face. Bravely, she took a bigger sip, and promptly almost gagged. “Mom,” she gasped. “This is TERRIBLE!”
“Well,” I said, “those tea bags probably aren’t overly fresh,” and left it at that. The cardboard box they came in definitely doesn’t preserve freshness like her beloved H&S tins. She tried a few more sips as the reception went on, perhaps in the vague hope that exposure to oxygen and the small mountain of sugar packets she put into it would improve the taste. It did not, and each sip was followed by various expressions of revulsion and loathing: some discreet, some not.
Finally, it was almost time to go. As a last ditch effort to finish the offending cup of tea (at least she’s frugal, right?), she offered it to Darling Husband to taste. It must be noted that said tea was now cold, and almost half a cup still remained. Ever the hero, Hubs lifted the cup to his lips and swigged the contents down in one gulp. His triumphant look towards his daughter instantly became a grimace of disgust. “Blargh,” he whispered, or something similar. He smacked his lips a few times, and his face froze into a rictus of distaste.
Suddenly, with no warning, his eyes glazed over and he started to slump over in his seat. Mildly alarmed, I watched in horrified fascination as he seemed to be reaching for his ankle. Having grasped it, he began to lift his foot, turned sole upwards, towards his face. His tongue began to protrude from his lips as his sole rose ever closer. “What are you DOING?” I hissed, glancing around to see if we had an audience.
“Trying to lick my shoe and get this taste out of my mouth,” he muttered. I shot out of my seat, quickly snagged one of the few remaining cups of melted sherbet punch, and thrust it into his hands to avert a footwear spectacle. Thankfully, most of the other well-wishers had gone, and mostly family remained—and the family expects oddity from us, so there’s that.
We got out to the car, still marveling that Darling Hubs and Darling Daughter had survived the harrowing Ordeal of the Terrible Tea. Listening to the two of them, an onlooker would assume they had done battle with the likes of Fenrir or the Minotaur, so narrow was their escape. I highly doubt that either one of them cares to repeat the experience with ancient boxed tea.
Hopefully now the Almost Adult will appreciate the value of truly good tea, and remember that you really do get what you pay for, at least with most things. And life is just too short to drink terrible tea. May your tea (or coffee, or water, or whatever) be tasty, Dear Reader. Enjoy every last drop.
