In which we reprise WHY I don't make my own tea in the morning
As anyone who has lived with me will attest, I am not the most alert person in the morning. Brian has a long-standing tradition wherein he makes me my first cup of tea of the day.
Recently, for one reason or another, I decided to make that tea myself. It went something like this.
---
The slippered and berobed subject stumbles downstairs, feet shuffling, eyes mostly closed. It emits a noise, "Urrrrgh." Perhaps this sound is an attempt at communication.
It looks around blearily, and heads towards the kitchen area. It gets it's slipper caught in the door lintel, trips, and catches itself. Ignoring it's mate, which, accustomed to these quotidian displays of ambulatory somnolence is peaceably eating morning oatmeal, the subject staggers towards the stove.
There it pauses, wobbling slightly, as if trying to recall what to do. Then it lifts the kettle slightly. It sloshes. The subject studies the stove for a moment as if encountering it for the first time, then turns a knob. It walks slowly away, and then gratefully settles into a chair at the table, staring out the window blankly. The subject's mate cheerfully heads downstairs and begins it's morning routine.
Some moments later, the subject's mate rushes up the stairs. Smoke is billowing from the tea kettle and the stove as the subject sits, blankly staring out the window. The mate douses the small fire, and then looks at the subject, who is now staring blankly at it's mate.
"Wait, do I smell smoke?"
---
And there you have it, folks. Proof that I should never do anything in the mornings.
Recently, for one reason or another, I decided to make that tea myself. It went something like this.
---
The slippered and berobed subject stumbles downstairs, feet shuffling, eyes mostly closed. It emits a noise, "Urrrrgh." Perhaps this sound is an attempt at communication.
It looks around blearily, and heads towards the kitchen area. It gets it's slipper caught in the door lintel, trips, and catches itself. Ignoring it's mate, which, accustomed to these quotidian displays of ambulatory somnolence is peaceably eating morning oatmeal, the subject staggers towards the stove.
There it pauses, wobbling slightly, as if trying to recall what to do. Then it lifts the kettle slightly. It sloshes. The subject studies the stove for a moment as if encountering it for the first time, then turns a knob. It walks slowly away, and then gratefully settles into a chair at the table, staring out the window blankly. The subject's mate cheerfully heads downstairs and begins it's morning routine.
Some moments later, the subject's mate rushes up the stairs. Smoke is billowing from the tea kettle and the stove as the subject sits, blankly staring out the window. The mate douses the small fire, and then looks at the subject, who is now staring blankly at it's mate.
"Wait, do I smell smoke?"
---
And there you have it, folks. Proof that I should never do anything in the mornings.