The Mad Hatter Tea Hater

But it's tea. It's all tea. Is this tea? What's this one? The woman picks up an elegantly labeled square tin, one of 9 identical tins lined up on the massive buffed black stained maple trestle table. You'd think the gigantic silver samovar and rows of teacups would give it away but evidently there remains some confusion. Oh, I don't like tea. This one's tea, too. She frowns, shakes her head and tsk tsk's under her breath, her default involuntary reaction to disappointment. The woman has now picked up and replaced 6 out of the 9 tins, a variety of black, white, rooibos and herbal loose teas, all  ridiculously overpriced and ornately presented alongside a selection of  individually hand filled sachets. Ian stands politely at attention, ready at a moment's notice to draw a steaming hot cup for whomever asks. Nothing he says, however, assuages this woman. Granted, she's obviously unclear on the entire theme of the baby shower being that of a Tea Party. The Mad Hatter shaped invites, the Alice in Wonderland decorations and giant stuffed Cheshire cat sitting on the table- none of this was in any way clarifying for the poor woman and Ian had long ago abandoned all attempts at explaining the afternoon's festivities. So is this one tea as well? She picks up a champagne flute filled with sparkling  pink wine, raspberries floating toward the bottom. Ian stares straight ahead, gathers his thoughts, then smiles and nods his head. Yes, yes it is. Oh. Hmm. Tsk. I don't like tea. I really don't.

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