Flammable

For years I didn’t get tea. Just like for years I believed wholeheartedly that any word longer than seven letters had to represent something awful, adult, and altogether threatening to my child-like mind. Nowadays I use words longer than seven letters daily AND I drink tea constantly. My, how times change. Thank goodness for tea. But I won’t lie: it was a tough time getting there.

My first foray into tea drinking disasterousness happened when I was eleven and it was a proper full-on catastrophe of biblical childrens proportions (that is to say minor by adult standards, but big in its own right). Mum, after some weeks, had finally convinced me that tea was sometimes a nice thing to drink and my dream education was due to begin. I doubted this much. As you do when you are very small and everyone bigger than you uses words longer than seven letters, thus adding further weight to the long-word childrens-conspiracy-theories of old. Suffice to say that after one sip it was all over. I dropped the cup. The tea splattered everywhere, I dropped the mug. Tea-curse even got on me and I didn’t much like the dreaded stuff in contact with my skin.

My second outing was marginally successful: I didn’t drop the mug and I did take tea down and keep it down. Then a minute later it came back up. This was the day mum vowed never to give me eggs in the morning followed by an attempt at tea.

Third time lucky. Not in this case. I made the terrible error of Judgement—forgivable, as I was a child—of drinking tea when too hot. This resulted in a burnt mouth, and much anguish.

The fourth time it happened. Something went WOO! In my brain. After that I got it: I couldn’t live without the excellence that is tea. That’s how you get converted.