An Illicit Cup of Tea

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"Mmm...I think I'm going to drink some hot tea tonight," I said, as much to myself as to the Kid who was sitting in the backseat on our drive home from school.  The weather had changed for the cooler and I was nursing a cold.

"You can only drink tea at the summer house," he informed me.

"But what if you don't have a summer house?  What if all you have is an...um, all-weather house?"

"You can only drink tea at the summer house," he repeated, with the finality of someone washing his hands of the matter.

For those of you who are not hip to the world of Thomas the Train, the summer house is owned by the fancy-schmancy Duke and Duchess of Boxford.  Sir Topham Hatt and his family do often have the trains take them there for tea, although now I'm going to be watching sharply for instances of them drinking tea elsewhere.

As you may guess, though, I'm not willing to let fictitious British aristocracy completely dictate my tea habits.

A few days later--still trying to kick the cold--I woke up with a case of the Sudafed-sweats.  (Side note: How on earth do people stand to do meth?  The pre-cursor makes me so loopy that I can't even imagine it.)  Of course, as soon as I stepped out of my warm bed, the sweats turned into the chills.  So I headed downstairs to the kitchen for a little 4:30 a.m. tea.

It was herbal tea, which I feel like is already suspect.  But I did make myself a piece of toast with blueberry jam to wash it down and lend my tea an air of legitimacy.  

Nonetheless, as I sipped away in the dark, I couldn't help but giggle at my own rebelliousness.  Drinking tea without benefit of a summer house is one thing, but skulking around, doing it in the middle of the night--what would Lady Hatt think?