My Tea

Little things make me happy.

I told my husband once to make his own tea and his response was “It’s not the same, you make it better.”
The glee that filled me with was probably greater than it should have been, but man, that made me happy. Probably because I don’t do anything special, my tea is probably the worst to anyone who loves tea. It’s simply water, orange pekoe tea bag, sugar and evaporated milk.

I think what makes me happy is the thought that there’s something to be missed. The small things are often missed more than the large things. They’re the things that work their way into your head slowly, plant themselves there and catch you off guard. The thought that if I’m gone, that if something happens to me my husband will make himself a cup of tea. It will look the same, it will smell the same, it will taste the same, but he’ll take a sip and pour the cup down the drain, “It’s not the same”.

When it comes down to it we all want to be missed. When someone thinks of something I do as unique, as truly something only I can do, something that if someone else does it they’ll think of me, I become almost giddy with delight.

I make tea for my husband knowing that he appreciates it, knowing that somewhere in his head my name and face is being associated with tea, that one day when I’m gone he’ll think of me when he has a cup.


One response to “My Tea

  1. This is so funny and I can relate because for the longest time my husband always wanted me to make his tea because I just seemed to “make it right.” I don’t know how but especially when he’s sick he always asks me to make tea for him, our favorite peppermint tea, and I don’t know what is special about me making it but it’s nice to know that is one of the things he misses about me when I leave town.

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