One of the most thrilling things about my husband's return from India was his announcement that he had been drinking hot tea every day and wanted to keep up the habit. Hello! Music to my ears! So every morning for a week I made two cups of tea. Call me Mrs. Happy To Serve. On the first day I pulled up a place for him at the table where Jackson and I enjoy our breakfast. Jackson happily pointed out "Mommy's teaf!" and "Daddy's teaf!" How precious. That turned out to be a one time only event. Hubs' mornings are too rushed for that.
It was not long before my rose colored glasses started hurting my head and I began recognizing the truth. Each morning I found two thirds of the tea still remaining when I dumped out his cup. I tried not to be bothered, but it pained me! One third of a cup = not worth the tea bag. I was sharing my precious imported tea bags with someone who clearly did not appreciate them. So I gently confronted my husband about it.
Babe, do you not like your tea? Are you afraid to tell me?
No, Prin. I like the tea. Thank you for making it. I guess if you could add a little bit more sugar that would be good.
Great. Adjustment made.
Still, I kept finding mostly full cups of tea lying around my house each morning.
Hubs, seriously, I think your problem is that you're waiting too long to drink it and then it doesn't taste good.
No, babe, I like the tea.
After a week I felt that my tea efforts were not justifiable. Something was off but I couldn't figure out what the problem was. Convinced that Hubs was lying to me about liking the tea, I announced that I would no longer be making him tea unless he asked me for it.
Why, babe? Do you think I don't like it?
This morning Curt walked into the kitchen just as I was getting my tea cup out of the cupboard. A wave of generosity crashed into me and I offered him some tea. He said yes. I was happy. I made the tea, took it to him in the bathroom where he gets ready, and went back to the table to enjoy my own. Twenty-something minutes later he walks back into the kitchen with the cup, just now drinking it. I'm not sure what my face looked like exactly, but it was probably similar to how it would have looked if I had caught Beckham red-handed when he ate Missy's chocolate chip pumpkin cookies. He saw my shock and dismay. Then I got the confession.
Babe, this is how I drink it. I like to let it get lukewarm and then I can gulp it down.
My fellow tea drinkers, is that not a sacrilege? What, does he think this is iced tea? If I were dead I'd be rolling in my grave.