From The Perspective Of An Innocent Teapot

My day began as most days do when you enjoy the luxury and comfort of life as a teapot. Sherbert, my closest friend and companion, (whom the humans in the house refer to as a tea cozy) was lying in the crowded basket down on the counter, barely visible underneath Mary and Patches, two common hotpads with whom I speak very little. It has become evident to me that the humans do not value Sherbert like I do; and Truth to be told, he is a very plain blue-gray in color, with some brownish stains (burns from an unfortunate accident concerning absentminded humans and the stovetop). He is always stored in uncomfortable locations such as the back of the spatula drawer or under a pile of hotpads in the hotpad basket. From my lofty position atop the China cabinet, I couldn't tell if the humans had even bothered to stick him in upright or not. But, the distance that might separate us socially mattered little to him, and if it didn't bother Sherbert, it certainly didn't bother me.

This morning was sunny, and the sun shone brightly through the huge multi paneled windows in the high-vaulted dining room. The room smelled as it always did: rich oak furniture, distant lavender fragrance, and old portraits.  

I am a most handsome China teapot, and when the cook carries me to the table, the glimpses of myself I get from the cabinet mirror are very flattering indeed. I am a rich, glistening brown color, with a lid of burnished ivory and a high, graceful spout. My sides are smooth and finely glazed. 

The cook, Ella, came in at six thirty to start breakfast. I enjoyed the pleasant sensation as she gave me my morning polishing, and watched lazily as Saralyn, the cream jug, received similar treatment. The sun warmed the wood beneath me quite comfortably. 

“How's life in the heights, Francis?” Sherbert called up to me by way of morning greeting.

“Just fine. I think she's making eggs and waffles today.”

I referred to Ella, who, deaf to our conversation, was now bustling about in the kitchen below me, pulling out eggs and flour.

 “Eggs and waffles. Yup.” said Marcus Flint, the iron griddle, as he was carried by and set on the stove with a clatter. 

“Bacon too, by the looks of things,” commented Sherbert. 

 I smiled. “Maybe she'll serve raspberry tea.”

“Or milk,” said Saralyn disapprovingly, but I saw Ella start the boiling water and knew that tea was the choice.

Breakfast was the least formal of meals. I was set without ceremony amid sizzling plates of eggs and bacon and waffles with Sherbert wrapped comfortably around me, unlike dinner or tea, where I would be kept back until later and presented in state. Sherbert never accompanied me then. Ella always removed him before taking me in to the table, which I found a dislikable but ordinary procedure. At breakfast, though, I usually enjoyed the comfort of his presence. 

“Looks good, don't it?” Sherbert remarked to me as we watched the humans eat. There were five of them not counting Ella: Two older parents that were called Mother and Father, a young child named Gabby, an older boy with freckles named Ronald, and an Aunt generally referred to as Martha. I never saw much of them other than while they were eating, and so took less interest in them than I did Ella. Their conversation was almost always dull, and their looks unvaried. They were a routine and little else.

“Yes. I wonder what it tastes like.” I said as Gabby took another crisp waffle and buttered it. Ronald grabbed me and turned me upside down over his mug. “Mother, the tea's gone.”

“Oh, dear. Ella, could we have more tea?” Mother called somewhere above me. Ronald set me back down. At that moment the doorbell rang.

Guests were common enough. These guests, however, seemed to cause a stir.

Mother and Father jumped up and ran for the door. Gabby smiled broadly. Ella became a flurry of motion.

“They're here already! Ronald, straighten your collar. Gabby, don't slurp your tea like that! Gracious, let me get another plate and mug. I must get the kettle on. Oh, would someone take that dirty old thing off the teapot?”

“Dirty old thing indeed!” I burst out indignantly, as Martha started pulling Sherbert off me. But Sherbert was unruffled.

“Don't bother about it, Francis. I'll see you later, alright?”

“Sure,” I mumbled as the chilly air hit me. “I'll tell you about the guests.”

I watched as he was taken into the kitchen and out of sight. Ella busted in and refilled me with steaming water, then retreated to the kitchen as the guests came in, looking highly polished themselves.  

“That's a lovely setup, Martha,” commented one as she sat at the table. “I love China.”

“Thank you!” said Martha. “But how was your trip?  Its an exciting day to-day!”

I paid little attention to the rest of the conversation. That was all human business.  For me, it was just another day to pour.

The End.