I like Dilmah. Extra strength. Teabag left in. I need to be there when the water boils, the click of the kettle when it’s done. Even if it means flicking on the kettle four times. The sound of boiling water being poured is one of my favourite things. For that reason, I never milk first.
I always use the same mug, ‘my’ mug. I used to be real specific when it came to milk amounts, embarrassingly so. Two milk-cap fulls. But I’ve eased up on that … partly as I don’t use milk bottles anymore. But also growth and acceptance. Anyways, it’s just a dash. Stop pouring almost as soon as you start. Then give the bag a couple of jiggles, get it nice and strong.
The first sip needs to be taken pretty much straight away, while it’s piping hot. Wait too long and miss that first sip and you have to make a whole new one. It’s not worth losing that first sip.
I like my tea in an (evidently) specific way. And everyone does. White with one. Black with three. Super-weak, using someone else’s teabag.
This is a long and boring metaphor all to say this: you are never going to be everyone’s cup of tea.
I end my showers on straight cold, and always scream because of it, even though I know it’s coming. I have to have my shoes of equal tightness, even if that means retying my laces 2 or 3 times. I am not fragile with my books, there’s tea stains and chocolate stains and I’m dog-earer. Words only make up about 50% of my communication, I am a huge utiliser of sounds and hand gestures. I have no inside voice and an inability to whisper. For a long time I prefered handshakes to hugs and the tide is only recently changing on that. I send 7 texts when one will do. I run perpetually late but only by a couple of minutes. I’m incredibly vain, and always need to look nice when leaving the house – I’ve faketanned once a week and we’re in isolation and I’m not seeing anyone. I am easy to like but hard to love. I don’t take anything seriously and don’t take criticism well. I am incredibly stubborn and struggle to concede being in the wrong. I would cut off my nose to spite my face, proud to an absolute fault.
I am a tumultous conglomeration of flaws and foibles, strengths and weaknesses. I am oddball, I know that. I was once out to dinner with a group of friends and just one person I’d never met before. He said to me at the end of the night, “you must be weird as you did a myriad of strange things tonight and nobody batted an eyelid.” I laugh with my entire body, head thrown back bending low to the ground. I have no control over my facial expressions, you can always tell what I’m thinking. I say the wrong thing all the time and constantly putting my foot in my very large mouth.
But I’d consider myself kind. Generous. Easygoing. Always good for a laugh – just watch me exist. I don’t embarrass easily. I try and remember people’s names. I’ll always be too friendly as opposed to not friendly enough. There is good with the not-so-good.
I am easy to like but hard to love. And that’s a hard thing to come to terms with: I may not be everyone’s cup of tea. But I now know that. And I am not ashamed or scared of it.