The slumbering are still asleep and the house is not-at-all eerily quiet while I rev up my writer’s blog with a new work in progress. Dinner’s sauce – in all of its sweet basil goodness – is on the stove doing its day-long simmer rather silently. Even the washing machine seems subdued. It’s one of those mornings when solitude suits me.
In fact it suits me to a piping hot cup of sublime darjeeling tea. With two sugars, natch.
Yes, my coffee
elitist luvin’ self will indulge in a delish cup of tea every now and then. And, it musthastobe darjeeling. It’s the only variety I like, well except when I have a cup of Earl Grey with Jean-Luc Picard.
I guess Miz Caffeination aka moi is officially out of the lapsang souchon closet. I’m not ashamed ’cause I was born this way. I am proud of who I am. My new mantra is: “I’m queer! Tea’s here! In my coffee cup!”
I know, I know, it needs a little work. While I fine tune it, have some freshly brewed french roast. It’s in the decoy pot on the counter.