Tea Time

I was sick. I was coughing, hacking, sniffing, blowing and whining. I felt so bad, even my hair hurt. I was curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and reading my novel. Rumble and Gram were in their customary chairs. They were reading as well.

I glanced at the clock, realized it was almost time for the Eleven o’clock news, and that it was my turn to fix the tea. I started to get up. Rumble rumbled at me to stay. He said that since I was sick, he’d fix the tea.

Ooooh! It was so incredibly kind, I couldn’t help but smile at him. I said, “Thank you. You are so sweet.”

Then he rumbled that he didn’t want my germs anywhere near his tea. Jerk.

Our tea drinking during the news had come to be a ritual. Rumble and I took turns brewing and serving. Sometimes one or the other of us would add a special treat. Then we carried everything to the living-room on an old, battered wooden tray that had wall paper cabbage roses decoupaged to it. We usually sat the tray on the footstool within easy reach of all of us.

Despite it not being his night to make tea, Rumble still provided a special treat. Alongside the teapot, cups, spoons and sugar bowl, was a little crystal bowl full of Creme d’Mint after dinner chocolates. “Oh! My favorite!” I said, and promptly popped one into my mouth.

I told Rumble how wonderful he was and proclaimed the chocolate sweet and delicious. I also mentioned that I wished my nose wasn’t so plugged, so I could enjoy it more.

Rumble passed me a steaming hot cup of tea. “Here, drink this. Maybe it will clear your nose, then you can have another.” How sweet.

I thanked him, took the mug in both my hands and raised it to my lips. The steamy liquid fogged my glasses as I took a huge swallow — and froze.

Vinegar! Rumble had served me a steaming hot mug of cider vinegar! After the sweetness of the chocolate mint, it was a double assault to my tongue. I couldn’t swallow, and spitting was against every manner I had ever been taught. I lurched from the couch, all tangled in my blanket, still holding the cup of “tea” in my left hand. Since I couldn’t swallow or spit, I also couldn’t shriek or cuss. Nor — thanks to my stuffy nose — breathe!

Had I not been very well trained, I probably would have spit that tea on Rumble. Only the thought of Gram’s reaction stopped me. I struggled to the bathroom, finally kicking out of my blanket in the hall. As I wretched over the sink, I could hear Rumble in the living-room laughing himself silly.

Gram admonished, “Now, Rumble, that wasn’t very nice.”

Rumble, gasping for breath said, “I know, but did you see her face?” Then he roared even louder.

As I listened to him laugh, I doused his toothbrush in Gram’s perfume and began contemplating ways to get even.