Don't Eat Us!

I must say, today was a most splendid day to have afternoon tea with my darling wife.  A date!  Most certainly Lady Elegant’s Tea Room offered us more than adequate accommodations for both hearty conversation and sugary indulgences.

First, when we contacted our nanny to provide care for our children for New Year’s Eve day, she responded in the affirmative. After she arrived (from the backyard, she’s a Saint Bernard, of course) we traversed the northern Twin Cities in horse and carriage.

Simply delightful! Though the bumpy ride gave my innards quite the jostle, we managed to enjoy the journey. We held hands, my naked palm resting atop her lacen glove. It was a regal yet romantic ride, the whole way.

It wasn’t until the grand duke announced our arrival that I learned I had underdressed.  How dreadful to have misplaced my tweed jacket, monocle and top hat only yesterday. Still, I saved face because my table etiquette is nearly flawless.

We ordered the Keemun Panda black tea. I was much surprised to find such fruity depth and complexity within the blend. My palate was instantly rewarded with an explosion of exotic spice, all wrapped within the warmth of a dainty porcelain cup. The steaming reddish tea even took cream rather well; a necessity for an experienced tea connoisseur such as myself.

Despite my attempts to focus upon my sense of taste, my eyes continually discovered ways to distract my tongue buds. Indeed, the only thing steeped longer than our Keemun Panda tea was my adoring gaze into the beauty of Lish’s hazel eyes. But, like a true lady, she did not flinch at the conspicuousness of my fascination. Instead she batted her feathery lashes, motioned her wrist in ways a beauty pageant contestant would envy, and smacked her lips after bites of scone in a way that sent chills down my well-groomed spine.

One last thing I must share. Indulge in this, friends! You may judge my wife, Alicia, to be a proper and refined woman, engaging in etiquette fit for the queen’s dining quarters.  Not so! At one point, after removing a morsel of scone with her translucent, ivory incisors, she accidentally dropped her scone upon the floor. “Oh, my beloved scone!” she said.

And then, as though it were the most natural of responses to take, she bent over, retrieved the scone from the floor, applied jelly, and continued to nourish herself with it like it was fresh out of the oven.

A woman unashamed of getting a little dirt on her scone, that’s the woman for me.

Finally, I must share a picture of my Lady Elegant’s Tea Room guestbook entry:

Now, if you would excuse me, I’m going to my garage, to power lift, to prove that despite finding enjoyment in afternoon tea with my wife, I do possess almost supernatural levels of testosterone that allow me to dead lift hernia-inducing amounts of iron.