Storm in a Teapot

Those who know, know.

Tea is not just tea.

The tea is the life.

It's not just the caffeine and tanins that perks you up and mellows you out. It's the whole ritual. Really boiling the water, brewing the tea, selecting exactly the right mug. Wrapping your fingers round and sipping while it's hot.

Serious tea-drinkers rarely use a travel mug, like some heathen. Coffee might be fine for on-the-go, but tea is sacrosanct. You give it its due. A sacrifice: a slice carved out of your day for it to be adequately enjoyed.

On weekends, we used The Teapot. It's a beast of a pot, and belonged to my gran, God-rest-her. There's something especially satisfying about making tea in it. It feels fancy.

When the black clad men burst in through my front door last Sunday, I didn't even think about the consequences, or what my Gran would have thought about her beautiful teapot smashed in some brute's face, the near-boiling contents soaking his balaclava and sitting against his skin. I just swung.

He dropped his weapon, like an idiot, or maybe like someone mildly concussed and badly scalded. I grabbed it, waved it, (no idea how to use it, mark you) and pushed my panic button. (It's for falls really, but sod it.)

"People are on their way," I told the other two, gesturing to my trusty Button. "That'll learn you, bursting in on a defenceless old lady. Now I'm going to make another call, and you're going to sit there quietly like good boys."

I picked up the phone (not one of these smart gadgets people have in their pockets; a proper one, on a curly wire) and dialled 9-9-9.

I made it to the newspapers: "PLUCKY GRANNY THWARTS BURGLARS". It was quite the week.

But all that isn't why I'm telling you this. Monday morning, I shuffled downstairs in my fluffy slippers, fetched the newspaper in from the biting cold, and put the kettle on. There, in my tea cupboard, was Gran's pot, not even cracked.

My tea tasted especially good that morning.

I use it every morning now. It's my lucky pot, and, in a pinch, not a bad defensive weapon.

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Word count: 366

Submitted on 29th January at 18:10

*Quick Author's Note*

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment so I can reciprocate the read. Your thoughtful engagement is very much valued. If you enjoyed the taste of these words, the best compliment you can give is to share it, or read another.

The story behind the story: I wrote this for Gary Ragnarsson Storm in a Teapot task. You can read more about that here.

My "story every day" project: This is also a submission for my 2024 microfiction project: A Story Every Day, which you can read about here. This one makes a 28 day streak. You can find all of them in my Index post, which you can find here. It's also pinned to the top of my profile.

If you're joining me on this "story every day" madne adventure, please leave a link to yours in the comments. Whether you're on a creative bent, like me, and writing mostly microfiction/stories, or whether you have your own, self-imposed criteria, I'd love to see what you come up with for today. I'll try to come back and edit this to link to your piece at the bottom.

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