Once a villager, always one

Well, did I say telling stories against myself ain’t my forte? This is the last one I do this year..

Teabags . You heard me right.. teabags. I picked a teabag today and started laughing, I might be out of the village but the village…. damn.. in me..

I was around 9 years old. My dad fell sick. We went to see him in the hospital.. well, poor guy.. we would have stayed but then you know food is sacred.. it has always been. 

I was starving. My mum decided to let take us to a hotel.. well, a nice hotel. 

Food was served. Need I say within a few minutes I was eyeing hers?? 

Am brought up in a small village. Very cold weather. Dusty roads but we produce the best plums ever.. what am trying to say is, after eating, you don’t order soda or (heavens forbid) beer; you order tea. 

Since I wasn’t as full, chapati was ordered. 

Humans… dear humans.. why complicate simple life?? Why?? 

Instead of tea that’s already made, those mortals brought milk, teabag, sugar and hot water. 

Am a villager my friends.. I know how to mix water and milk and sugar and tea leaves.. how many conjunctions are those??

As grateful as a good village girl, I added water into my milk. I carefully tore the teabag and emptied it in.. I then added sugar.. 

Confidently, I called for mum.. 

‘Mum! They didn’t give us a sieve’.. 

Oh the look on my mum’s face.. 

If you laugh I will murder you.. mean humans.. 

Anyway, can someone lend me a sieve.. even today, they didn’t bring one.. .

Inconvenient mortals… *sighs*