Tea

You know what? I hate tea so much – that I could actually puke just by smelling it! I am dead serious here. I detest sitting in the office pantry, because it smells like tea! (Okay, they play like really crappy music too, but the smell still wins out – hands down!) I sometimes wonder how people can actually drink so much tea. And here is another thought – I wonder why people consider honey as sweet. Honey, is anything but sweet! It is disgusting! And yeah, I could never call my girlfriend as honey! Unless, I find her disgusting that is! Okay, let me stop wandering and get back to tea.

Now, irrespective of the fact that I hate tea so much, I still do drink a cup of it every morning! Um, provided I am at home that is. Well, that is because I think only my mum is capable of making tea that would not want me to throw up when I drink it! No offence meant here to anyone, or their mothers! It is just me! It really is! (It always is!)

Anyhow, there are these few (very, very few!) days when I do not like the tea my mum has made. On one such morning, I so had to let her know about it.

Me: Ma!

Mum: Yeah?

Me: What is wrong with this tea?

Mum: What is wrong with it?

Me: It tastes like I am chewing on tea leaves!

Mum: It is tea! What do you suppose it should taste like?!

Me: Argh!

Well people, I really do not know how to explain this. Never mind! I need some sleep! Good night!

Blame it on the genes

While I was riding to work this morning, I had this brilliant topic to blog about. And now when I am sitting here to write, I just can not remember what it was! Crap! But now that I want to write, I might as well do it.

So, we had ordered for a wardrobe recently and it was delivered to our place a few days back. There were four guys who had come along with it, to transport and to set it up in place.

While these guys were moving it into the room, they figured out that the wardrobe was about an inch taller than the door height. And nope, it was not possible to carry it in sideways, because, well, my house is built that way. Anyway, after a few attempts by these guys, one of them came up with a brilliant idea that he shared with my dad.

He: (with a smile of accomplishment!) Sir, I think you should call a carpenter and get the doorframe cut, and then we can move the wardrobe inside!

Dad: When you go to pick up shoes and in case it does not fit you, would you cut your feet, or change the shoes?!

I somehow refrained from clapping!