I haven’t reviewed this often, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it. Perfection in a breakfast tea. Wheaty. Toasty. Smooth. Takes milk graciously but doesn’t need it.
This was a serendipity find at Tuesday Morning a while back—after falling in love with Mr. Shepherd, my husband kindly went back and bought the two remaining tins. I had a Sunday morning date with the last spoonfuls of Tin #2. Favorite hobnail mug. Steeped to perfection. Thirty unscheduled minutes before I had to get ready for church.
And then, Beelzebub and Son in the feline forms of Minnie and Tazo, decided to play tag. Minnie, a 20-pounder, jumped on the small side table holding the mug and drenched everything within a three-foot radius. Cleaned the rug. Threw away ruined magazines. Blotted soggy books. Scrubbed stained carpet. With order nearly restored, I lifted the small table, half the weight of the cat who caused the commotion and felt a sciatic nerve go snap.
And that is why I have been walking around hunched over like a gorilla all week.
Even so, I’m still more peeved about the loss of a perfect cuppa than I am about the injury. So glad there’s one tin left.
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Oh dear! Hope you find yourself at a right angle to mother earth again soon!
Better today, thanks—even managed stairs at work, slowly. I did, however, pass on the opportunity to go sledding with my fifth and sixth graders on Sunday.
Ouch! What a chain of events; cats seem to be the ultimate catalysts. Hope you recover soon!
Not the books! And your back! And the cup of tea!
Oh dear! Hope you find yourself at a right angle to mother earth again soon!
Better today, thanks—even managed stairs at work, slowly. I did, however, pass on the opportunity to go sledding with my fifth and sixth graders on Sunday.
Ouch! What a chain of events; cats seem to be the ultimate catalysts. Hope you recover soon!
Not the books! And your back! And the cup of tea!