I am now in possession of tea cups and a box for wine

The Sisters will be at a reader event all weekend. AZ Dreamin’ in Phoenix. It’s a great deal of fun – like a weekend long pajama party.

The reason I bring this up is that part of the event involves “book clubs” where approximately eight readers at a time get to spend about 30 minutes with an author of their choice, and there are seven of these. At these events I always hold a Regency tea. Last year I even wore my lovely Regency dress. I’m not going to do that this year, but I’m still holding the tea. I bring my grandmother’s silver tea service all polished up and gleaming and a few pieces of my great-grandmother’s Haviland Limoges china my great-grandfather brought back from France after World War I for my own use. I love these pieces and when else am I ever going to get them out of the china cabinet? This year we have petite fours to serve my guests and chamomile tea.

What I didn’t have was tea cups for my guests.

This bothered me immensely. Immensely. Ava has white china coffee cups with saucers, as do I. Those aren’t tea cups, and as I said, it bothered me.

I happened to be next to World Market this evening for something else entirely so I ran inside.

They had the perfect thing. Seriously. And for a reasonable price. My only issue was that I wanted them in a box. I have to cart them all over the place and a sturdy box made just for them would be perfect.

I rounded up a clerk. She was a pretty, young thing who didn’t deserve having to deal with me.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need those tea cups and I need them in a box.”

She looked at the wall of open stock tea cups and made a face. “We don’t have any in boxes.”

“None in the back?” I asked helpfully. I explained what I use them for and why I want a box.

“I don’t think so. We do have these cups in box.” She directed my attention to some adorable mugs with stylized dogs on them. They were super cute.

“No. This is a Regency tea.” She looked like this information did not compute. “Like from Jane Austen time.”  She nodded now like she got it. Maybe she did. I don’t know her education. “I can’t use these. Totally improper.”

“OK, then how about these?” This time she pointed out some super cute cups painted with flowers stacked in a handy silver carrier.

I grimaced. “Those are demitasse cups. Too small.” I pointed back to the open stock. “I want those. In a box.”

“Let me call in the back and see what we have.”

“I’m sorry to be a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, no!” she protested, having no real idea how much of a pain in the ass I can be. “It’s no trouble.”

“It’s alright,” I assured her. “I know I’m a pain in the ass. I own it.”

The manager came out and poked around looking for some in a box. “I’m sorry. We don’t have any. Just what’s up here on the shelf. We have lots of wine boxes. We can pack them for you.”

I sighed heavily and made my expression unhappy. “I want a perfect box. With little dividers. You know what I mean, right?”

I have a vision of a box. This box doesn’t exist. In my mind it has dividers, is made of sturdy yet lightweight cardboard, and it has a magical handle for easy toting.

“We have tote bags.” He was clearly itching to show off the lovely tote bags he would happily pack my china in.

“I want a box.” I was beginning to sound like a petulant child. Maybe one of these obnoxious ones from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

He shook his head and didn’t bother repeating the same thing about not being in possession of a perfect box.

I changed tactics. “How about those zipper boxes they make for storing china. Do you sell those?”

I took that opportunity to repeat that I understood I was a pain in the ass, that I owned that designation, and was alright with him having that impression.”

“Well, so long as you’re aware of it.”

I couldn’t believe he said that! He wasn’t rude when he did so, and I guffawed loudly. It was brilliant. No one ever calls me on this stuff. Clerks all just keep apologizing while I keep asking for things I want which they can’t supply.

“I think I love you,” I told the dumpy fiftyish-year-old manager with thinning hair and glasses. “I’ll manage with a wine box.”