Subject: Vacation Conflagration

Date: 03 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (Mumthra)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free, alt.slack

 

 

 

 

Jack thinks he's going on vacation this week, but since he's not

going anywhere I just hope that taking off his shoes and wiggling his

toes in the sandbox does it for him. Mightily have I strived to

conquer my compulsion to give him Things To Do. I may have casually

pointed out that an industrious neighbor was mowing her lawn just

after dawn this morning, but it was probably just one of those

unspoken observations.

 

This may not be the bestest week to be home, but I'm not saying that

either. It IS prime time for PMS and other scary syndromes. Baby Bo is

having some sort of misery that causes her to crawl in circles and

scream. I thought it was just hunger that drove her to it this

morning, but when I tried to offer her a slice of pear during the

kitchen leg of the circuit, she screamed even louder as if the damned

pear was the cause of all the bad things that ever were. At the

grocery store she had another spell and I started to wonder if the

sight of frozen ducks was the real terror. It's pretty difficult to

diagnose someone who will be crowing at a loaf of French bread one

minute and then beating herself over the head with it the next. So far

she's not the weirdest of the trio, but she's undoubtedly the loudest

and the most inclined to breaded frenzy.

 

I spent a little time puzzling over a bottle of tea I bought today.

Buying bottled tea has always struck me as just plain wrong, but I had

limited choices. We were visiting an upscale, healthy hippie grocery

and if they sold soft drinks at all they hid them in brown paper

wrappers behind the manager's desk. This is a place that wants you to

feel freshness in your every step; they want you to feel good and

wholesome and have only naturally-occuring colors greet your blissful

lenses. All the other shoppers were rolling aimlessly and nearly

colliding with me in slow motion so relentlessly that I began to

wonder if all my navigational skill comes from additives and

preservatives.

 

The drink I bought is called Honest Tea, and it promised to be spiced

Indian black tea (Kashmiri Chai) that was "freshly brewed and barley

sweetened." This got my attention and I thought that discovering the

mysteries of barley sweetening would be worth taking a chance on some

touchy-feely bottled tea. It's not bad! It's pretty good, actually,

and the kids even tried it in spite of the floaty things that are

supposed to be spices.

 

While Jack drove, I read the label out loud:

 

We were thirsty. We searched for bottled tea that truly tasted

like tea but couldn't find any. So we decided to make our own.

Honest Teas are select black, green and herbal teas microbrewed

in spring water, finely filtered and just barely sweetened. Each

has a subtle, aromatic flavor and a sixth of the calories of the

super-sweet, tea-flavored drinks.

 

Honestly yours,

Seth + Barry

 

p.s. Great cold, hot, or with milk. And Barry likes it with

pizza.

 

Our recipe is made with spring water, premium tea leaves from

India, crushed cardamom, cinnamon, orange peel, cloves, pepper,

ginger, malic acid and a touch of sugar cane juice.

 

 

Not a word about barley! What were these honest dweebs trying to pull?

I rotated the bottle. It said right on the front...barely sweetened.

Oh.

 

Even so, I find the listing of sugar cane juice kind of disturbing.

Does that mean it's basically white sugar with water still in it and a

greater probability of bugs? Maybe they should call it We Think

There's No Bugs In This Tea. That would make the floaty things much

more exciting, I think.

 

ANYWAY, it's going to be an interesting week, especially for Jack. Not

only is there a bundle of screaming Bo to contend with, but it's

likely that I'll be moodswinging and nearly smokeless. I'm smoking so

little that I kind of forget to smoke for long stretches and finally

give in only when I recognize that I'm reading things backwards or

wandering into the street for no reason.

 

He'll probably have plenty of Things To Do.

 

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