The cup is warm. Carelessly I tip over the contents into my mouth, and my eyes water, stinging, as I feel steam rising from my scalp.

Ok, so my cup deceived me. Should have known. The amber liqiod looks innocent. Swirling within. Enticing my tastebuds. “Drink me”, it says. I feel like Alice. Maybe the cup thinks I’m Alice. How should it know? It does not have any pre-notion of what an Alice is supposed to look like. We don’t have any mirrors here. If my cup believes me to be Alice, I could very well pretend to be Alice. In this way, I get to have two adventures. One for myself and one for Alice. I’m such a smart-Alec that way. Who’d have thought they could outsmart a cup? My cup is loony one though. We met in a very strange fashion actually. I shall tell you the story.

I was lying in bed and reading, some irrelevant material, when I decided that I needed to drink some tea. Now this was an odd proclivity. For I’d never before felt the need to drink tea. Anyhow, I shut my book and thought about this strange wish. Sure, I had the tea but I’d never needed it. And ergo, I had never had a teacup. But as I looked up that evening, at the odd assortment of kitcheneries I had, I discovered something astonishing. A colourful teacup. It had materialised out of nowhere, and was sitting there quite plainly, as though it had been its whole life. I’d never seen it before. But it was here now, and it seemed appropriate.  Maybe it was time to drink some tea. And that’s the strange meeting of my teacup and me.

Teacups

Advertisements