Nothing comes close to a cup of tea in the morning. Mine is a mix of tea and milk. So the resulting drink - if I may call it that - is a smooth smiling light brown. Flecks of cream swirl to the rhythm I subject the cup to as I pick it up and walk to the table.
I have to have something with my tea. That is an absolute necessity. It can be anything: a slice of cheese, a slice of cheese with bread, butter, butter on biscuits - it just can be anything. As long as it's tasty and doesn't quite interfere with the usual taste my tongue is accustomed to, I don't complain.
This morning, cheese and bread decided to give my tea some company down my throat. I was rather sleepy so I didn't protest. Not that I would have if I weren't. It's just that a protest spices up the proceedings at the breakfast table.
"How on Earth can you explain that?" a friend asked when I mentioned my love for protests at breakfast tables.
"Don't you see?"
"See what now?"
"It starts a conversation!"
"Ah I see! How?"
"How? What you mean how?"
"Well, yes how does it start a conversation?"
Now, this was a phone conversation. So I did not have to spoil my face. Instead, I laughed and accused him of being stupid.
My friend was livid: "You cannot say that!"
"Why?"
"Well just because I don't see how a protest starts a conversation at a breakfast table doesn't mean I am stupid!"
"Okay let's say you don't see the obvious then. That isn't much of an insult, is it now?"
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"
"Haha!" I laughed as I usually do when I have carried a jocular insult too far, "Oh I am just fooling around."
"Do that on your time, okay? Not on mine."
Well it was time to apologise and explain. So that's what I did. First, I said I am truly sorry. I had no intention of hurting his sentiments, etc., etc. And then I, well, explained.
"You see," I said, "no one at a breakfast table will so much as talk in the morning."
"Because it's early in the morning."
"Yes, and we have things to do and work to go to and all that."
"Absolutely."
"I don't like no talk at breakfast."
"Why?"
"It feels as if you are feasting at a wake!"
"A wake? Well, it IS a wake in some ways you know."
"Which is why I hate it when people agree to let it be just that."
"So?"
"So I try to well-"
"-make conversation?"
"Yes-"
"By protesting about what's for breakfast?"
"Yes."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I think you're bored!"
"Of breakfast? Yes, but that does not stop me from having it."
"No no! Not of breakfast alone."
"Then?"
"Well, you're just - well - bored of everything."
I kept my mouth shut for 10 seconds.
"Hello?"
"Yes yes! I am here!"
"Well, I thought I had lost the line."
"Oh you haven't. It's more like you have lost your mouth!"
"Hahaha! Why are you getting angry now? Just because I said you're bored of everything?"
"Then what?"
"Well," my friend said in a tone that indicated an explanation was to follow,"There are so many other ways of starting a conversation at a breakfast table. And you pick a protest! If that's not a sign of boredom, what is?"
"It's NOT a sign of boredom, I retorted as if I knew what it was.
"Really? Hmm, so what is it then? Hmm?"
"It's a sign that I am trying to dispel the boredom at the table."
"Of which you partake too."
"Do you want me to just say yes and say that you are right? Is this what this is about?"
"Well, you started it. You should know."
"I was telling you about how I protest at a breakfast table."
"And I was telling you that that means you're bored!"
"I AM NOT!"
"You so are!"
"Am not!"
"You ARE!"
We went on that way for a while. The Sun heard all that noise and rose from its bed beyond the trees that hid my balcony from the road. It let out a yawn full of light and stood up in its yellow robe, all set to go to the bathroom perhaps.
I scratched my head and sighed. "Yes well, okay,"I said. "I am bored. Are you happy now?"
"Haha! As long as you face the truth, I think I should be."
"Oh what is truth, really?"
"Well what does it mean to you? That matters."
A flock of sparrows chased a dusty orange leaf and paused on my balcony. They seemed out of breath but not without a motive. I, though, seemed to have both, but I could not employ them to help me out of the corner this phone conversation had pushed me into. The only way I could get out of it was to throw down my armour and say what I wanted to.
"It means a lot to me you know,"I said, my words unsure of being part of my sentences,"It does. Facing it turns me to stone. As if I am protecting the truth from what will come its way."
"Oh please! Truth can take care of itself. Can you?"
I think I said: "I can."
"Oh then just face it. If it's not now, it'll never be."
I did not know what to say to that. So, I pretended to hear the doorbell ring and ended the conversation. But somewhere, near my soul perhaps, a door had indeed opened and a hand had scratched its surface...
"A wake? Well, it IS a wake in some ways you know."
"Which is why I hate it when people agree to let it be just that."
"So?"
"So I try to well-"
"-make conversation?"
"Yes-"
"By protesting about what's for breakfast?"
"Yes."
"You know what?"
"What?"
"I think you're bored!"
"Of breakfast? Yes, but that does not stop me from having it."
"No no! Not of breakfast alone."
"Then?"
"Well, you're just - well - bored of everything."
I kept my mouth shut for 10 seconds.
"Hello?"
"Yes yes! I am here!"
"Well, I thought I had lost the line."
"Oh you haven't. It's more like you have lost your mouth!"
"Hahaha! Why are you getting angry now? Just because I said you're bored of everything?"
"Then what?"
"Well," my friend said in a tone that indicated an explanation was to follow,"There are so many other ways of starting a conversation at a breakfast table. And you pick a protest! If that's not a sign of boredom, what is?"
"It's NOT a sign of boredom, I retorted as if I knew what it was.
"Really? Hmm, so what is it then? Hmm?"
"It's a sign that I am trying to dispel the boredom at the table."
"Of which you partake too."
"Do you want me to just say yes and say that you are right? Is this what this is about?"
"Well, you started it. You should know."
"I was telling you about how I protest at a breakfast table."
"And I was telling you that that means you're bored!"
"I AM NOT!"
"You so are!"
"Am not!"
"You ARE!"
We went on that way for a while. The Sun heard all that noise and rose from its bed beyond the trees that hid my balcony from the road. It let out a yawn full of light and stood up in its yellow robe, all set to go to the bathroom perhaps.
I scratched my head and sighed. "Yes well, okay,"I said. "I am bored. Are you happy now?"
"Haha! As long as you face the truth, I think I should be."
"Oh what is truth, really?"
"Well what does it mean to you? That matters."
A flock of sparrows chased a dusty orange leaf and paused on my balcony. They seemed out of breath but not without a motive. I, though, seemed to have both, but I could not employ them to help me out of the corner this phone conversation had pushed me into. The only way I could get out of it was to throw down my armour and say what I wanted to.
"It means a lot to me you know,"I said, my words unsure of being part of my sentences,"It does. Facing it turns me to stone. As if I am protecting the truth from what will come its way."
"Oh please! Truth can take care of itself. Can you?"
I think I said: "I can."
"Oh then just face it. If it's not now, it'll never be."
I did not know what to say to that. So, I pretended to hear the doorbell ring and ended the conversation. But somewhere, near my soul perhaps, a door had indeed opened and a hand had scratched its surface...
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