I decided to do a little story for the
current DPchallenge instead of writing another scene in my novel. The topic of the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge is: A Manner of Speaking
Edited, thankfully, before I go to bed. I just noticed the date of the challenge … April 29 2013. Oh well, my intentions were good. I’m not about to delete it. 🙂
A TALE OF TWO TEAS
I glanced at the clock, nearly two already.
I hurried to the fridge, took out the leg of lamb and plopped it in the biggest roasting pan I had. After dashing in some water, I shoved it into the oven, pleased to see the temperature on moderate. I wanted to have tea ready early, well before me mates got here.
I opened the Wellstood and had a gander. It was right for wood for a while yet. I went into the pantry to fill the colander from the spud bag. I tucked a pumpkin under one wing and plopped both things on the sink. I glanced at the clock again: too early to peel the spuds but I could wash them now. I did so, first fishing out the vegie knife from the drawer and throwing towards the pumpkin which I could chop now, too. Dumping the colander to drain, I reached for the chopping board.
A knock at the door froze me in my tracks. Who could that be? On the way to the door, I straightened my apron and combed my hair with my fingers.
“Celia?” I tried to sound welcoming but all my brain could say was what in blue blazes are you doing here so damned early? We kissed cheeks. I took the proffered plate of bikkies.
“I’m looking forward to this cuppa and chat with all youse girls,” Celia said as she sat at the kitchen table, looking at the stove. “Geez, Shirl, you haven’t even got the kettle boiling yet. A fine way to treat someone you invited around for tea.” She jumped up and moved the kettle over.
“Tea?” The penny dropped and Celia cottoned on.
She gave me an odd look. “You meant dinner, didn’t you? Tonight?”
I smiled as bright as I could, but, before I could admit it, the back door banged fair fit to wake the dead.
“Cooooeeeeee!” Rita loved to announce herself this way. She put a plate of butternut snaps on the table as we kissed cheeks. She glanced at the stove over Celia’s shoulder.
“Fair suck of the sauce bottle, luv,” she said. “You haven’t even got the teapot warmed yet.”
Celia winked. She wasn’t going to dob me in. I swept the spuds and pumpkin off the sink and hid them in the cupboard. I would have time to cook them later, after the girls had left.
The kettle sang as I reached for the tea
caddy cannister. I mechanically went through the motions, all the while wondering how many of the girls I invited for tea would turn up.
I would never get the hang of calling tea bloody dinner. Dinner
was is in the middle of the day.
Tea was good enough for me mum and dad, and their mum and dad, and it
was is good enough for me.