I Made TeaI mustered up quiet a thirst this morning. Hastily I summoned my maid with two tugs of the bell chord dangling above my handsome head. To no avail? Surging forth, I pulled again with vigour, the sheer brawn of my strapping forearm evident as I grasped the chord firmly. The bell tolled throughout the many halls echoing long after I surceased into abyss. I started for my chamber door, through each and every hall I explored. No maid?
My throat parched like my maids bartholin the night before, yawning she was not so I had made for her back door. Lost I became, not due to the scale of my house, but lost in my gaze reflected in a mirror. Such deep blue eyes I have, “You’re a gorgeous fellow” I thought. As hard as it was to bring myself away from the striking presence in the mirror, I had arrived at the pantry. There I found a note, strewn across the table. The maid, she had gone to purchase a new outfit for I had torn hers last night.
“Tea” I muttered to myself, my voice husky from the whiskey, the maid and I had indulged in, although it still maintained a velvet undertone. I have the type of voice that would reverberate through any dame, they fall weak upon hearing my voice for it is great. I filled a pot to the brim much like I had with the maid last night and placed it on the stove, much like she had felt for our love making was hot. I could have used the kettle, but the diction in my head was that of a century ago and modern conveniences wouldn’t be apt for this blog. I should also mention that it was dark in the pantry and I had an oil lamp with me to set the scene. Every room in my house is so vast, that the light from my lamp could not reach the extremities of the pantry. Instead it filled a dome with it’s light, the dome articulated by the blackness which surrounded it, and in it's centre I stood.
Brewing my tea, although rare an occasion I do this myself, I consider it an art form and with much zeal I had set about this task. My favourite cup looks as though it has been hewn from stone, for I'am man, carved from stone it seems, much like my abdomen or my entire frame for that matter. Michelangelo could have only dreamed of creating a masterpiece such as I. With a tea bag in situ I poured the now boiling water over it. I had used a silver spoon to stir the tea bag and squeeze as such to release it’s flavour. I near placed it on the counter when it caught my reflection, although distorted with the convexity of the spoon, I still looked good. A playful dash of milk and my tea was ready. I had done it all by myself, and it tasted better than any brew I had tasted before. Exulted with my success this morning, I decided to write this blog to share with you guys.
For I’am man. I made tea. You may bask in the sun that shines from my rear, for I have bestowed upon you a blog today. I will enunciate once more, I have made tea and it was great.