Teatime Tale #2 - Tempest in a Tea Cabinet

Tempest in a Tea Cabinet

            Rose was having a bad day. She felt old and tired, she wasn’t appreciated by anyone anymore, and to top it all off, the winter blues had her in an ill humor. Thank goodness her friend Gracie had time to listen to her.

            “It’s the same thing, time after time,” Rose whined. “They love us when we’re young and pretty, and then time catches up to us, or a newer model comes along, and bam, they shove us aside and go in search of someone more exciting.”

            Gracie could only nod in agreement. She hated to see her friend in such a foul mood, but she knew that what Rose was saying was true: It was hard being a teacup.

            “I know what you mean,” said Gracie. “Or at least I’ve heard about that kind of thing.”

            Gracie, who was from China, wasn’t that old herself, three years at the most. Rose, on the other hand, had come to America from England in the 1950s, and her age was starting to show. She had no cracks and no chips, but the faintest little lines were beginning to appear on her saucer, and some of the gold on her rim and handle had disappeared—along with her youth.

            “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you about this,” Rose said. “You’re practically a baby. The mistress still thinks you’re the cat’s meow.”

            “But Rose, you know she loves you,” Gracie said. “Doesn’t she tell people that the fact you’re  a little crazy—I mean ‘crazed,’ of course—is one of the best things about you?”

            “Phooey,” said Rose. “She says it, but she doesn’t mean it.”

            Gracie sighed. “Of course she does. I think you’ve just got a bad case of the winter blahs, or blues, or whatever they call them.”

            “It’s blues, sweetie,” Rose said, just a trifle dismissively. “But I am not imagining this. Look over there by that electric tea kettle. Who’s she got out there today? That same old ivory creamware cup and saucer she falls in love with every single January.”

           

            Perhaps, Gracie thought, she should try playing peacemaker. “Now, Rose, Creamy likes to get outside this cabinet just as much as the rest of us. And really, does she ever get to go out and play any time besides January? I don’t think so. At least the rest of us get a turn all year long.”

            “You’re missing the point, Gracie,” said Rose. “I just don’t see why Creamy gets all the attention every January. Oh sure, her handle’s pretty, but everything else about her is plain, plain, plain. Bor-ing, and the other thing—”

            “Rose,” said Gracie, a little more firmly, “I don’t see what good it does to complain. You’re a teacup, not the mistress of the house. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go?” Gracie started to hum the “Let It Go” song from the Disney movie “Frozen,” and Rose wanted to scream, but she couldn’t, because she’s a teacup—and teacups are far too polite to scream.

            Undeterred, Rose continued. “As I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted, the other thing that bugs me is how our mistress always talks about how gray and dull it is each January, but then what does she do to put a little color in her life? She reaches for a beige teacup! It makes no sense.”

            Gracie had had just about enough of Rose’s bad attitude. “Fine,” she said. “If you want to sit here all day and stew over it, suit yourself. I’m going to take a nap and think about how much fun I’m going to have when she pulls me back out in the spring.”

            “If,” said Rose.

            “What?” asked Gracie.

            “IF she pulls you back out in the spring,” Rose said, giving Gracie a knowing, condescending smile.

            “Oh, Rose …”

           

            Gracie closed her eyes, settled down into her saucer, and got ready for a nice long winter’s nap. In fact, she so enjoyed her nap that the next morning, it frightened her when the cabinet door suddenly whipped open at seven a.m. What was going on?

            It was the mistress, and she was rummaging around among the stacks of teacups.

            “Ouch,” whispered Gracie, whose saucer was shoved around in the course of the search. Gracie didn’t like to be jerked out of her sleep.

            “I know you’re in here somewhere,” said the mistress. “Ah, there you are!”

            The comment caused Gracie to open her eyes wide. The mistress was reaching for … Rose!

            “That beige teacup doesn’t have enough personality. I need a little color to brighten this day, and I think you’re just the one to bring it, sweet friend.” The mistress shoved the other teacups aside, slid the creamware set into the spot Rose had occupied, and shut the cabinet door.

            Gracie peered out the cabinet’s glass to see what was going on with Rose. The mistress was filling her with boiling water, and Gracie soon caught the slightest whiff of vanilla through a crack in the door.

            So Rose was wanted once more.

            And none too soon.

            Gracie closed her eyes, snuggled back down into her saucer, and returned to the land of slumbering teacups.