1980. Warm teapot

Alannah hated tea. Well, “hated” might be a bit strong. She didn’t like tea. She never drank tea. She always drank coffee.

The first thing that husband Eugene did when he came home from work was to make a pot of tea. It was a little strange, he thought, that the teapot was already mildly warm. He never said anything, but he wondered why. A few days later the teapot was again warm.

“Have there being visitors?” asked Eugene.

“No,” said Alannah. “Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondered,” said Eugene. He didn’t want to give away why he was suspicious. If Alannah was “having someone around” he didn’t want to remove the evidence of a warm but emptied teapot once every several days.

After several weeks Eugene had had enough. “Look,” he said, “I know you have a visitor come every couple of days because you make tea. What’s going on? Who is it?”

“It’s no one,” said Alannah.

“Then why’s the teapot warm?” asked Eugene. “You don’t like tea.”

“I’m trying to grow to like tea,” said Alannah. It was clearly a lie. From then on the teapot was never warm. Alannah would rinse it with cold water.

Eugene’s birthday came. Alannah produced a special lemon tree growing in half a wine barrel. Eugene had drooled over it in the plant shop.

“At last!” exclaimed Alannah. “The truth can come out. They said to water it with cold tea.”

23 thoughts on “1980. Warm teapot

  1. umashankar

    One has to be extremely careful reading your stories. It’s not uncommon to miss a cue here or there tucked innocuously among the words, and which go on to explode towards the end. Mischief and murder are only a whisker away, waiting to happen. But the biggest surprises are the pleasant ends such as these.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

I delight in having my dull life coloured by your intelligent perceptions, your wit, and your vivacity.

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