British slang for A-CUP-OF tea
Man 1: Oi, Fancy a cuppa?
Man 2: Cream no sugar, ta
Man 2: Cream no sugar, ta
That's right, a cuppa. The morning cuppa to be more exact. As in, during the toasty summer months when I have retired my school books and started to regain my sense of humanity, I wake up and drink a cup of hot tea. Tetley, British Blend.
I realize that this all sounds quite quaint and calm. It's easy to imagine me pensively looking out a window while wrapped in the finest cashmere and sipping hot tea in the most delicate way possible. However, that's not exactly what happens. What usually occurs is a series of sad events that vaguely resembles the process of a bear waking up from hibernation.
I wake up feeling like I've been hit by a bus (regardless of the previous night's activities) and roll out of bed with the subtlety of a nine-pound hammer. I stomp and trudge my way to the bathroom, take care of whatever I need to, and then before opening up the door I look in the mirror. (Why I do this I'm still not sure.) I am constantly disgraced by the reflection that stares back (but that's another story.) I drag my hands down my face and peak through the spaces between my fingers, drag my hands back up my face and through my hair, look down, place my hands on my sink and look back in the mirror. Half groan. Cough. Take a deep breath. Roll my shoulders back. Open the door, and begin my day.
The above is carried out flawlessly, and during this time, I refuse to acknowledge my existence to the outside world. But when I emerge from my cave, I attempt to be on par with the rest of society.
Anyway, back to the cuppa..
By the time I've made it halfway down the stairs, my wonderful father has already put the kettle on. He wishes me a good morning and kisses me on the cheek. This is usually paired with something along the lines of "There's my beautiful baby girl!" Something that I'll admit never gets old. Although my crooked smile when he says this is usually laced with the thought of the view I just saw in the mirror.
I sit down on the floor in the living room in front of the coffee table and begin to watch the Morning Show or whatever is currently flashing on the television screen. He brings in our tea and he sits down on the couch adjacent to me. This is the starting point of my day. Our conversations range from human rights and politics to the old television shows he used to watch as a child to simple caustic remarks at the expense of the personalities on our screen.
The morning cuppa is so much more than a teabag, hot water, milk, and sugar. It's a ritual. It's the transitory period between the bear and the baby girl. And without it, I'm not sure what I'd do.
But with it I do know that post-water-bottle-incident Marco Rubio is a less confident figure, body language makes all the difference, tattoos on women in the workplace are still a no-no, Andy Griffith was from North Carolina, JFK's win against Nixon can be partially attributed to his acceptance of make-up during the televised debate and largely attributed to his good looks in general, I can be bossy and need to be careful how I approach situations, and every story told in this family is by extension my own.
The morning cuppa, 'tis a powerful thing.
