The tea being drunk in the house tends to be out of tea bags at the moment. Mostly because I’m broke, and I have an awful lot of tea bags.
Current favorite is the Passionfruit-Peach black tea which Kristine sent me. Lovely, delicious stuff. Second favorite is Twining’s Christmas Tea blend. I bought three or four boxes around Christmas, and am nearly through the last one. And then I shall mourn.
There’s definitely loose leaf in the house, though.
There’s Masala Chai, which I quite like the spice of, but which smells a bit like Old Spice aftershave.
There’s some Black Currant.
WIFE: I’m going to the store after work. need anything?
PETE: Well, if we have the money, could you get me a little bit of Earl Grey? Doesn’t have to be a lot. or any, really.
*some time later*
WIFE: So, I got you Earl Grey.
WIFE: The dispenser got stuck. I hope you really like it.
And she offers me a bag that nearly can’t shut, it’s so full.
So I’ve got about nine ounces of Earl Grey.
(And I’m not complaining).
that’s it, you ask?
that’s it. Sorry. Myne Wyfe is off today, so I shall spend the day with her. Tonight, I shall write. Maybe finish this bloody short story and begin typing it, so I can get on to the next in the list of projects waiting for me.
(I’d rather have too many projects than scant few).
The problem with reading really good short fiction is, I then come away and stare at my own stories glumly. It’s like listening to Beethoven’s 9th, for example, and then coming home and playing something that sounds like I Love Lucy, that one where she just played “Glowworm” over and over again on the saxaphone.
That was sort of a bizarre metaphor, wasn’t it?
Right. Off to make lunch.