English Tea

Today I ventured off to Tea and Tattered Pages from my bookstore post.

I was so excited leaving the apartment, looking forward to speaking English with someone other than my boyfriend. Filled with hope, I walked in the red lacquered door, and she said, "Hello." Elated, I replied in kind.

But then, for some inexplicable reason, she could not understand me.

When I inquired about tea, I was met with a blank expression. I repeated myself four or five times. I mimed drinking from a tea cup. Finally, she led me to the back of the store and gave me a menu.

"See, tea!" I pointed

"Oh, I thought you said, "Deeze," and that you wanted something special."

"No, just tea."

After ordering and settling the confusion, I thought she might become friendlier. No, not the case. She did, however, chat extensively with every other customer who entered, in multiple languages.

On the plus side, her cat didn't reject me. He rubbed against my pant legs and seemed only marginally intent on clawing down the tablecloth from underneath my tea set.

Once I finished my pot of English Breakfast, the cat began to retch on the carpet. I tried to move him to the parquet, but it was too late. I took this as my cue to leave, but I couldn't in good conscious without telling her that the cat was sick.

This seemed to only secure her opinion that I was a bit daft. Rather than endure any more awkwardness, I left money on the table (without getting my euro back in change), said goodbye, and hightailed it out the door.

Suffice to say, it was a disappointment.