In the midst of my recent move (yes I moved, both addresses and towns, albeit slightly), I was forced on a tea hiatus. Where everything in the entire place was packed – except for my computer, which I am typing on right now, and also Toga, who stayed at Grandma Cork Head and Grandpa Wonk’s. It was there that he played with us uncle brother, Jasper, who is his actual litter mate, for two entire weeks. So long so that he was only mildly excited to see me upon his entrance to the new home. That is, until no one was watching and he slept two millimeters from my face for nights at a time.
Anyway, the tea.
It was packed up and I could not get to it. But I wanted it. I wanted to taste its deliciousness and benefit from its subtle hints of caffeine. But there were so many boxes. Out of order and stacked on top of one another. An entire mountain of crap.
So I didn’t drink it. I had no way of locating its whereabouts. I didn’t have a tea detector, nor the Smellmaster 9000 – that machine that helped save Richie Rich’s parents’ lives. You know, back when Macaulay Culkin was a pre-addict himself.
Instead I thought about it all day. That I wanted to be drinking it, and prepping my favorite blend, Earl Grey, just to ease some of the pain. And about the 5 millionth time I reached for my mug, grasping for the warm cup of comfort, I started to think I might have a problem. Not from headaches or anything withdrawal-like. But from the habit. And the taste.
Instead of facing one’s demons and opting to get help, like any addict should, I decided it was time to give in. To just bite the bullet already and give myself what I really wanted. Tea. I dug out the pot and the leaves, and I cooked up one of the most delicious batches I’ve ever made. It was incredibly tasty.
From now on, I’ve decided to stop denying myself this vice. Why not have something that I love that is mildly healthy, depending on the blend? Even if only logistics are standing in the way. I’ll keep a travel pot on hand, probably, so that I can store it in my overnight bag. When moving and when on the road. Also in case – please forbid – something should happen to my actual teapot. Like the time I burned one to a brown fiery crisp. May it rest in peace.
So raise your tea glasses and have a toast – here’s to never not having tea again. EVER.