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Teatime Terror

A fiction piece by Caitlin Mann, sophomore English Major


I barely sat in a white wicker chair, watching as my mother played the perfect hostess to her group of friends gathered for the daily lady’s luncheon. Giddy with pride at my first invitation to such a prestigious event that I had only ever heard of, I could barely contain my excitement or nervousness at finally being able to attend “Lady’s Afternoon Tea.” I had been taught exactly how to act at events such as these, the rules of propriety and etiquette being force fed to me since I could stomach solid foods. Fifteen years of solid foods and I can finally say that the solid food I am eating was eaten at a real lady’s tea, not with my dolls that now sit in the corner of my room, collecting dust and sorrow in their eyes.

Twenty-five years of solid food and I still barely sit in a white wicker chair, watching my mom act the role of hostess. I gaze around at the pompous women slurping their tea and spilling forth gossip that’s been repeated since the beginning of the first war. There’s a slight chill in the air and I shudder as a breeze blows through the trees and greets me with a cold hug that comforts me. The women sitting in a circle shake their heads and tsk. “If you weren’t wearing that gaudy, short, flapper dress you might not be chilly.” I picture my dolls still alone in my room and wish that the teatime I used to share with them was what this teatime was. A game that I could leave at any second.


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