Coffee and Outrage

From time to time I like to check up on how the champagne socialists back in the old country are slowly destroying a once great nation. It serves as a constant reminder of how fortunate I am to be here in Kissbotty where the men are men and women are exquisitely delicious visions of loveliness. ( Hmm I am not sure where that came from, I suspect that that boss has hacked into my blog, oh well). Well today I see that the British Post Office has released a new Christmas stamp and I have to wonder what this all about. It is quite clear to me that Santa is taking a dump down some unfortunate’s chimney. I guess he checked his list twice and found that this little girl had been naughty. My outrage is caused by the fact that Queenie, aka little Lizzy Windsor, is being forced to watch this pornography. So I did a little research and discovered that the designer of the stamp is Japanese and that explains everything. For reasons that I have never fathomed, the Japanese are fascinated with their bodily functions and particularly bottoms. Some of the finest scat porn that I have ever accidentally stumbled on has been Japanese so perhaps making the Queen watch a dump is their revenge for that spot of unpleasantness in 1945.

Talking of bodily functions here is an absolutely true story courtesy of my friends at Kissbotty Radio (home to all the hits). Yesterday the song…. carol ended and then nothing. Well I know nothing about broadcasting but I know that dead air as it is called is the biggest no no there is. The peace and quiet was such a relief and then I caught myself humming Rocking Around the Christmas Tree, I now know that I am going slowly insane here. After about two minutes we got yet another version of Silver Bells and we were on our way again. Well, today the “presenter” ‘fessed up. It turns out that he forgot that songs of the 50’s were only on average two minutes long. Feeling the urgent need of a comfort break, he put on White Christmas (for the 100th time) and grabbing the Bigtown News headed of to the cludge for a monster movement. Half way through it dawned on him that the speaker in the bog had gone dangerously quiet and he was forced to do the stiff legged shuffle back to the studio in order to torture me once more. Such is life in Kissbotty County.

Finally courtesy of Kissbotty Radio I now think about Christmas carols all the time. You know how sad lonely people call radio stations and say "That song was written about me, that is my life in a song". Well these carols may have been written for you. I respectfully present for your approval;

Christmas Carols for the Psychiatrically Challenged

SCHIZOPHRENIA - Do You Hear What I Hear?

MULTIPLE PERSONALITY - We Three Queens Disoriented Are.

DEMENTIA - I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas.

NARCISSISTIC - Hark The Herald Angels Sing (About Me)

MANIA - Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town ...or Deck the Halls and Spare No Expense!

PARANOIA - Santa Claus is Coming (To Get Me).

PERSONALITY DISORDER - You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, then maybe I'll tell you why.

DEPRESSION - Silent anhedonia, Holy anhedonia. All is calm, All is pretty lonely.

OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE - Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell,
Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle
Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle
Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell...

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY - Thoughts of Roasting in an Open Fire.

PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE - On the First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me (and then took it all away).

Only another 26 days of Kissbotty Carols to go, I'm buying a gun.

Happy Christmas
TCB

PS following the comment from DQ, here's one for you baby,

ADD - It's begining to look a lot like .......... Who wants to go for a bike ride?

Coffee and the Mystery

How I love a mystery and here is a mystery. Anonymous commented on Coffee and the Radio. Apparently I was wrong about the Kelly Clarkson thing. Anonymous contends that I was wrong about the reasons for the whining bitching lyrics (but not wrong on the fact that they are whining bitching lyrics). Setting aside the fact that I am never wrong I was somewhat delighted to discover that someone actually reads this drivel and more than delighted to see a comment (although Anonymous needs to refer to the point about the Bitch never being wrong). All of this got me thinking, what sort of person would challenge my manly rightness. So donning my best deerstalker I conclude that;

Someone in Austin, Texas logged on at 4:30 and the comment was made at 5:00. I know that it’s a big leap but it looks like the comment came from Austin. The server was in the University of Texas so the commenter is educated or being educated. You are using a Firefox browser and a high-resolution graphics card, which again all points to the more cerebral end of the human spectrum. I cannot imagine that anyone on the faculty is reading my nonsense so I am going to guess that you are a student. As you can clearly read and write (and if I may make so bold, rather well), you are not from Texas so you must be an out of state student and I will hazard a guess at a junior. You have dipped into rockycoffee more times than is healthy and you freely admit to having seen the video of the song, and yet you claim not to be a fan. Something of a dichotomy here, methinks. You must be a female, as no real man would admit to watching a Kelly Clarkson video

So Anonymous, that is all I have on you. You are a 21 year old female student with a sense of humor. You are in Austin but probably from somewhere north of the Mason-Dixon line and I have a question for you. How do you feel about going half shares in a baby?

L+K TCB

Coffee and the Radio

There are many great things about living in Kissbotty county, although it has to be said that we are not the most cosmopolitan locale in the U.S. As you know I have already whined on dreadfully about the lack of fine dining ( I bet there is not one tablecloth in the whole of the county) so I won’t bash on about that again. Instead I shall moan on about the state of local radio. We have, here, just about one radio station that is not hard-core country and that is of course, Kissbotty Radio, home to all the hits. (There is also some stuff on AM but to be frank I am not too interested in the price of pork bellies, or adverts about tractors). As you can imagine, during the many, many minutes of quiet time I have got to know the radio “presenters” quite intimately, I have also discovered that;

a) Kissbotty Radio has a playlist of about 50 songs
b) They must have some sort of payola deal with American Idol winners.

As a direct result of points a and b, I hear two songs even in my dreams, I know all the words and I am slowly going insane. Before I finally loose my last marble I would just like to say to Kelly Clarkson, STOP COMPLAINING. It is not the fault of your husband/partner/boyfriend that you are afraid to cross the road. That is so typical of a woman. My life is crap so it must be the fault of the person wearing the testes. Give it up beyatch, your life is turning to dust because you are a failure, it is your fault. You know that paranoid feeling you get when you hear laughter and think that people are talking about you? Well in your case it is true so stay in bed and stop singing.

There is another American Idol (or is it Idle) who is also torturing me, some silly bint called Cassie Underpants or something. Well Cassie listen up. When you are driving and hit black ice you should try to turn into the skid to regain traction. If you have anti-lock brakes you can jam you foot hard on the brake because you won’t make the situation worse. If you are a resident of Kissbotty and drive a 1980 Safety Inspection reject then you should probably not bother with the brakes at all. When you emerge from the ashes of your Ford Pinto I earnestly recommend that you do not tell the police investigator that you threw your hands in the air and screamed “Jesus take the wheel”. You might just find that your insurance company holds you negligent and refuses to pay you the $15 that your “car” is worth. By the way the baby should not have been asleep lying on the back seat. If social services catch you with the baby not in a child seat they will probably take the little snot eater into care. Still look on the bright side, you can sing a duet with Kelly about how your accident was the fault of some poor harmless bastard that looked at you once back in the 80’s.

For those of you who know about these things, and let’s face it if you live in Kissbotty and didn’t see the Country Music Awards then you is “probly a pinko commie gay boy from the North”, Faith Hill was right to throw a shit fit. Cassie your “career” is about a year old and you are the Country Music Star of the Year, I don’t think so. How did you do that? Don’t answer I think I can guess. It looks like Faith blew her opportunity, or perhaps she didn’t blow, if you catch my drift. Anyway lest you think I am biased I didn’t vote for Ms Hill, I actually wanted Shania to win because she is on my “to do” list. Sorry Faith I feel your sorrow.

This rant seems to have gone off track as I started with the intention of castigating Kissbotty radio. You see just as I thought that things could not get worse Kissbotty radio announced themselves as the official Christmas station and promised to play only Christmas songs from now on. Come on guys, it is November! Give me a break. After only two days of Bing and Perry and the Carpenters, I want Cassie Underpants back.

“Jesus take the coffee machine.
I can’t brew this any more”

TCB

FOTL1 is Evil

Absolutely nothing of interest has happened at all this week. I have been starved of amusement by a total lack of weird customers. Perhaps they have all gone away for thanksgiving which is where I shall be soon, so I thought that I would blog this little story before I slip into the arms of Bacchus for four days. See you Monday my little love cakes.

FOTL1 called into her local Chinese take away for some lunch today. Making conversation she asked if they would be closed tomorrow. Mr. Wong looked puzzled and said “What for we be close?” FOTL1 replied “For Thanksgiving”. Suddenly awareness dawned on Mr. Wong and he said “You write me sign” OK says FOTL1 what do you want the sign to say. “You write Fanksgivin Close”. Sure says FOTL1 why don’t we go with Closed for the Thanksgiving Holiday. OK OK says Mr. Wong you write sign. So FOTL1 writes the sign and collects her lunch. She is a touch disappointed that Mr. Wong didn’t offer her a discount on her lunch but she did derive some pleasure from watching Mr Wong stick a sign in his door window that stated

Closed by the Health Department

She really is the spawn of Satan; I can’t imagine were she gets it from

Coffee and the PDA

For some reason we had an absolutely frantic lunch session yesterday. I can tell you at the end of it all, I was quite drained. So I had just sat my weary old arse down with a nice cup of Earl Gray and a shortbread when the door bursts open and in flies Simon Sue (Sue, Grabbit and Runne, LLP International Attorneys). Red faced and flustered he wheezes, “Have you seen my Palm Pilot?”

Before I continue this tale, Am I the only Bitch in the world that thinks that Palm Pilot is not a great marketing strategy? When I hear the term “Palm Pilot” I cannot but help thinking of a prepubescent schoolboy who has just discovered what his right hand is for. You know the Freudian stage of psychosexual development where the penny had dropped but the boys haven’t. Anyway back to (simple) Simon.

As you can imagine I wasn’t best pleased with this interruption to my hard earned tea break so I looked up and with the most innocent expression I could muster I asked if it was important. “Yes”-squeaked Simon, “it has all my appointments, client details, court appointments and billing hours”. “Oh” I reply with even more concern, “did you back up the information?” “No”, whined Simon “not forever. Have you seen it?”

“Well Simon, as it happens, I have”. “Oh thank God, where is it”. “At this precise moment it is on Ebay with a reserve price of $200”, I reply. “Please be sure to bid nice and high I would hate to see the memory erased before it is sold”.

You would think that a Lawyer would know that the law in Virginia is finders keepers.

I really do rule
TCB

Coffee and Awards

Well it has to be said that it was a night of disappointments. First of all search as I might there was no sign of Meg Ryan. Look Meg I need to tell you that those puppies are heading south at an alarming rate, you really need to make your move soon especially as Britney is back on the market. I am not going to wait forever, OK?

Anyway the ceremonies commenced and I was on tenterhooks holding out for the “Bitch most likely to be caught in a deviant pose with an illegal Guatemalan transsexual nurse whilst enjoying a reach around with a spider monkey” award. Sadly, and I must hold Smalltown to task over this, there was no such category. We eventually settled for New Business of the Year. It was to say the least a crushing blow but I fought back the tears and accepted with as much grace as I could muster. I suppose this means that hordes of Smalltownians will be flocking to our door and increasing my workload no end. This is particularly ironic as I have been doing my best to keep the plebeians away by letting them know that I have been grinding the fresh ginger between my butt cheeks. (And I think that there might still be a piece caught there as my bum burns like the very anus of Satan himself).

If there was any good news then thankfully the event was not managed by the Smalltown cops so at least I get to flash another day, brace yourselves ladies, I am on a roll. Incidentally FOTL1 (who knows about these things) tells me that the age of consent in Virginia is 13, which is very handy. She might have added a few caveats but you know how it is, you only hear what you want to hear.

Finally Don Rumsfeld has got the push and that is a shame. Old Rummy (as he liked me to call him) was a horribly misjudged man as this short video shows.

The Coffee Bitch in-decision

Recently The Smalltown Gazette has been running a series of articles, which I can only describe as “Dumb Criminal” stories. The deal is that the local cops will write to a whole load of local miscreants and invite them to a prize giving or award ceremony or some such similar bash and when they turn up to register, they get slapped in chains. Apparently it is the most cost effective method of collecting the local scumbags and every time I read another police sponsored scam story I shake my head in wonder as to how dumb these moron criminals can be. Today I received the following email. (To protect the guilty the xxxxxx are mine).

Dear Coffee Bitch,

We would love to have you attend the meeting, as we will be presenting a special award to The Smalltown Coffee House.

XXXXXXXXXX - Community Partnership for Revitalization

You are cordially invited to

The Annual Meeting of
The Community Partnership For Revitalization

November 15th – 6:00 to 7:00 p.m.

Light refreshments will be served.


Immediately following the annual meeting, there will be a performance by “XXXXXXXXXX” to which the public is invited. The quintet was formed as one of the component groups of the United States Air Force Heritage of America Band. The quintet presents a unique blend of chamber music, drawing from the repertoire of classical composers such as Puccini and Bach to the contemporary music of Baccarat and Gershwin. Their repertoire also includes popular music selections as well as patriotic music.


Please RSVP by November 10th by e-mail at XXXXXXX@XXXXXXXX or call xxx-xxx-xxxx.



Well I think that I smell a large brown furry rodent here. Can it be that the Smalltown flasher has finally been unmasked (figuratively speaking of course). I think I might just send the boss in my place. Then again what happens if the award involves cash? Damn, I won’t see that. Worse still, suppose it is presented by Meg Ryan dressed in a Girl Guides uniform with a six pack in one hand, a pizza in the other and a come upstairs Bitch look on her face, don’t laugh it might happen. Now I know how those dumbass criminals feel. What a tizzy of indecision. Watch this space all will be revealed on Wednesday. Actually it might be best if all is not revealed, this will be one night in Smalltown when I keep the boys in their barracks.

Yours in anticipation
TCB

Coffee and the menu

One of the many things that I have learned being the Coffee Bitch is that marketing is a skill. Here in Smalltown (and in Kissbotty County for that matter) there are no Rolls Royce dealers. There are however countless tractor dealers and you can see where I am going with this. You cannot sell brioche to a market that wants biscuits and gravy (for less than $1). So I have been observing our morning customers to see exactly what they want in order to be able to accommodate them. Starting from Monday the new breakfast menu will be a set price of $2.75 + tax, which is $3 even and includes;

A bagel
A small coffee
A glass of iced water
A spot of scintillating Bitch conversation
A monster dump that closes the trap for 20 minutes and sends the roaches scurrying for the backdoor with handkerchiefs over their little noses.

Seriously ladies, there are certain things that you should not be doing in public and one of them is a bodily function. This should be reserved for the privacy of your own boudoir and to be frank if you need to be blocking my cludgy at 7:30 in the morning you may want to have a word with your proctologist. Thank you.
Talking of bodily functions in public, if you enter a fast food restaurant solely to use the facilities, this is known as taking a McShit. If you are caught by the pimply-faced retard on guard and you tell him that you will purchase something after visiting the bathroom, then this is a McShit with lies. This happened to me just last week. I went into the crapper to find said retard cleaning up vomit from behind the bowl. His shirt said “I’m loving it” but the poor bastard’s face told a different story I can tell you.

The Bitch converses

Conversation 1.

I just love the way you talk
Thank you, I like your accent as well
Oh no, I am so country
There is nothing nicer than hearing a southern lady saying the word “yes”
Really?
Absolutely, as long as it is followed by another yes and a yes and a yes and a oh yes!
Goodbye
Bye ma’am have a nice day

Conversation 2.

Hello, This is the Smalltown Coffee House
Hello can you tell me what the soup of the day is?
Certainly madam it is Nutty Pumpkin
Mushy Pumpkin?
No ma’am Nutty Pumpkin
Yes Mushy Pumpkin
No, Nutty Pumpkin, as in Peanuts
Ah Mushy Pumpkin with peanuts
Oh yes that’s right ma’am
I don’t like pumpkin, Goodbye
Goodbye madam have a nice day

Coffee and Immigrants

I swear to God that this place is becoming more like the United Nations every week and I don‘t just mean the Yankee hoard that seem to be invading Kissbotty in ever increasing numbers. Today we had in all sorts, a Kiwi bird and a Kraut. I’m sorry that was hardly politically correct, let me rephrase that, A woman from New Zealand and a Kraut. We also had an Irish gent in and of course a delegation from England. At the same time we had just one American and when I pointed out that he was the ethnic minority he had the good grace to smile. He was in fact one of the Circuit judges that likes to dine here, which once again points out the fact that these judges are really jolly decent chaps. I do hope I get him when the Catholic Girls School finally gets to grips with the Smalltown phantom flasher.

Later that same day we had in an Australian. I can’t image why he should be here, after all America has hardly any sheep so how he manages for a love life is beyond me. I suppose I should be charitable towards immigrant Australians as long as they are not here on an “I married an American woman” green card. We don’t need any more people who border hop, steal our jobs and impregnate our women. After all that is why God created Canadians. I suppose that if you have to come from somewhere then Australia is better than Des Moines (just). Here are 10 reasons for Australian immigrants to feel homesick, and go home

1. The Alpha male can always be spotted as he is the one holding the BBQ tongs.
2. Fosters Lager
3. Dispossessing Aborigines who have lived in your country for 40,000 years because you think it belongs to you (hmm, just like Americans really)
4. Knowing that every civic function including the opening of Parliament will be accompanied by the sounds of sausages sizzling on a Barbie
5. Tact and sensitivity.
6. Bondi Beach.
7. Other beaches.
8. Liberated attitude to homosexuals
9. Drinking cold lager on the beach
10. Having a bit of a swim and then drinking some cold lager on the beach.

If by some dreadful mischance there is an Australian reading this (and I know you are) I have a question. Your national anthem, that Waltzing Matilda thing. If the jolly swagman actually did bring his mate Billy to the boil why are you people such homophobes, it doesn't make sense.

Finally a picture of a successful Saturday night in Wonga Wonga

Redefining xenophobia

TCB

Coffee and Crime

We left Fairfax county in part to escape the crime. The gangs were moving in, drive by shooting were becoming common and when the nice lady across the street was held up at gun point on her driveway we decided to head south. Sadly even Smalltown is not safe. The offices of Hemmer, Royd and Pile are just next door and yesterday Mrs. Pile came to see us to ask if we were all right. It transpires that some lout had thrown a beer bottle into their porch way. In Fairfax they have drive by shootings, in Kissbotty we have drive by beer bottle throwing. I suspect that it might have been a disgruntled client of Freddie Pile so I am uncertain as to why Mrs. Pile would worry about us being bottled after all no one ever got a bad latte from this Bitch.

Still this did give me an idea and quite fancying a few days off I called the Sheriff’s department and anonymously (faking a fine southern accent) told them that it was the boss that had committed the crime. Well, they sent the investigators around who after some hours worked out that the boss was off the hook. It seems that a bottle of Bud Natural was involved, had the glass been an old mason jar the boss would have been in the pokey and I would now be in a hammock surrounded by a bevy of bare breasted beauties attending to my every whim. God life can be so unfeeling. Still all this detective work gives me an idea for a TV franchise

CSI Kissbotty (The Shine Wars)

The Bitch speaks nonsense

When I first arrived in this great country I was working for a reasonably large size company with offices in Virginia and Texas. Every week we would have a teleconference and spend an interminable two hours spewing out (and failing to listen to the other person’s) pointless rhetoric. This was my first experience of corporate babble taken to such a pervasive level. It so blew me away that I printed out some bullshit bingo cards and anonymously (ever the coward) left them in the meeting room. If you have never played bullshit bingo check this out. These days, of course, I no longer have to tolerate this nonsense apart from the odd customer who sadly feels the need to bolster their ego with a spot of “blue sky thinking in the workplace”.

It goes without saying that I don’t try this on with the boss these days. That would simply be an invitation to introduce my boys to her knee. It is not just because these phrases are just examples of meaningless office twaddle but the fact that they simply mask the ineptitude of worthless employees that irritates me beyond belief. The next time someone drops this nonsense into a conversation at the Coffee House I will hit back with my own Bitch speak. For example, achieving success is dependent on a bit of horizoning - not quite the same as predicting the company's future performance, more like staring out of the window. This may also be commonly known as workspace-specific perceptual abstraction (daydreaming.) You may also try to get away with non-specific interfacing (needless chat) or possibly some activity deficit substitution (looking busy).

Other office babble that you might like to use (but not on me) might be

Sprouting: Generating ideas on a greener workplace
Raise the bar on this: Leave for the pub
Expectation management: What the boss wants to hear
Metime: Out of office time
Going tarso-mandibular: Putting your foot in your mouth

Better perhaps to stick to inter-departmental liaison facilitation or asking your friends out to the Coffee House for lunch. Serious facetime is essential, that peculiar part of the day when you have completed all of your work but have to stay around to show your face. Some of that can be successfully filled with a company core dump, which is the five minutes just before the end of the day when you can take a paid comfort break.

So how to spot these idiots? Well, they will be the ones testiculating - waving their arms around while talking bollocks (you need to be English to understand that, sorry). They will often be supported by a backing singer, that familiar person in a meeting who doesn't contribute their own ideas but just nods along with the boss.

Well it looks like it is time for some red sky thinking, the signal, in these darkening autumn days that it is nearly time to go home. Before I do I just need to herd the dinosaurs to the right end of the cricket green, whatever that might mean.

Coffee and the notes

A little while ago we hosted a party for about 16 adults. It was all rather jolly although slightly marred, in my not so humble opinion, by the presence of some children. I don’t know why people would think that their snots would be welcomed or even wanted at these bashes but clearly they do. I suppose these mothers feel some sort of conscience at dumping the brats off in childcare from 7 until 3 so to assuage their collective feelings of guilt they dump the snot on me. To be fair I should say that all the little snots were actually quite well behaved and the afternoon turned out to be quite bearable. Just as we were winding down one of the mothers snuck up on me with a note that her little angel had written that she wanted to make sure wasn't thrown out with the trash (like I would, really).



Anyway I have to say that I find love notes from children somewhat disturbing, rather like seeing adults in Boy Scout uniforms, it just creeps me out. Although the same cannot be said for fit young ladies dressed in Girl Guide uniforms in fact I could do with seeing that quite a bit more often, actually I might have to have a good hard think about that right now. OK I'm back, where was I? Oh yes, so later I looked at the little boy's love letter (shudder) and realized that he had crossed the heart out. So does this mean that he was actually saying that he hates me? I do hope so. For a start that grosses me out a lot less. Secondly, as you know, I am an ethnic minority. This means that his little note now falls under the category of a hate crime. Should I care to report him he is guaranteed at least 5 years in a federal lock up. I am not sure if Virginia executes children or whether that is just Texas but I think I shall call the Feds anyway. That buzzing sound you can hear is Governor Kaine firing up old sparky.

Later that day an odd looking old bird staggered in. She was dressed like a 60-year-old goth and to be brutally honest smelled rather of the juniper berry. Still, she was no trouble and eventually wobbled off into the night. When I came to bus her table I found this card.


Damn why would she do that? Jesus might be my savior but in this Coffee House the boss is God and a vengeful God at that. So people if you want to leave the Bitch hate mail or love notes or save my soul, just write on the back of an Alexander and I promise that your note will not be on the fast track to room 101.

Coffee and the Mountain Man

I suppose that we have settled into a cozy little routine here in Smalltown. Between 7 and 8 we get the high school kids coming in for breakfast. I like to take this opportunity to help their psychological development by letting them know that if their mothers really loved them they would provide a nice breakfast at home. When I see a little tear forming I say, “Hey I’m just messing with your head, no one is ever going to love you”. Then from 8 until 9 we get the office workers and about midmorning the retirees come in for bagels and a spot of scintillating Bitch conversation. So it was yesterday when in walked the biggest mountain man I have ever seen. This guy was huge, maybe 350 pounds and 6’3” tall. He was sporting a huge black beard and had the hairiest arms, shoulders and back. (Yes on a pretty cold morning mountain man was attired in a singlet vest). This guy could seriously commit suicide by sunbathing during bear hunting season. As I have previously mentioned, you can’t judge a book by its cover, or did I say the opposite? Oh whatever, he was a nice guy, perhaps a little too friendly as he muscled in on one of my regular retired couples but they seemed OK with it and at least they will have a story to tell. I don’t quite know how we got onto teas but we did and he decided that he wanted to try some so he would be back later. Later turned out to be about 2 hours when he returned with his old Mum. Now I have already described Man Mountain so I won’t bore you by laboring the point but his mother was tiny. 5’3” max and maybe 75 pounds, by the second trimester MM’s feet must have been hanging out. This woman made FOTL1 look like Xena Warrior Princess. As you know tea is where I am a Viking so I went through my spiel and we decided to start off with a nice pot of Earl Grey. You really have to have been there to see MM sipping Earl Grey out of a bone china teacup with his pinky in the air. We experimented with various blends and eventually he said, “ I have to say that I prefer the aroma of the Prince Charles blend”. There you have it, not only do I cure senility but I turn mountain men into epicureans. He had such a jolly time that he promised to bring his buddies in for a cream tea. Can you imagine? When it happens I promise I will take a picture and post it here, this is going to be interesting.

Tea for Two
TCB