Happy Birthday to Me

So it’s happy birthday to me today. I’m sitting in our new office (Daughter’s bedroom swapped to old office last weekend), the kids have gone to school, Husband is still in bed. He said on the phone yesterday ‘I saw your blog. We don’t have to do anything; you can write if you want. I can bring you cups of tea all day.’

Gosh, it’s almost worth it.

Husband is a lovely man, but he’s really crap in the tea department. He says it’s because I’m impossible. I’m not; I’ve just got specific standards when it comes to tea. (Water must be boiling, tea must be brewed for 4-6 minutes and then not drowned with milk; simple eh? The mug’s got to be the right one, but that’s not difficult, is it? He could always refer back to my mug post if he’s confused.)

He said ‘if that’s your idea of a lovely birthday: my making you tea all day…’ But do you suppose he thinks he’ll get away without making me tea for the other 364 days?

He’s always trying to rush the tea, but if he thinks you can just brew inadequately and then add milk to make the colour right, he’s very much mistaken. I can tell the opacity of the liquid is wrong. And the taste of course, that’s not right either. Nothing makes him huff and puff more than when I tell him I’m timing the tea he’s making me. Gosh, that does make me sound a bit of a tea fascist, doesn’t it?

But the idea of having him (good naturedly – because Oh Yes, I’d hold him to making tea with a smile on his face!) making tea at my command, really does appeal.

Perhaps I could have a little bell that I ring when I fancy tea …