A Spilled Tea Fog

Sometimes it's necessary to spill the tea with some tea. Not just any tea though - juicy, sweet, special - just like a good Fog. Where tea is a Toyota Prius, a London Fog is a low-riding 1962 black Corvette with the top down with the wind in your hair as you're blasting toward a sunset in the Midwestern US. 

Today the tea was spilled on a warm summer afternoon. Have you been able to tell I've entirely abandoned any timeline on my Fog posts? Time is irrelevant in Fog-world. 

There's something incredibly special about having an excited conversation while gently holding a warm drink. It allows you to sit back in your chair, cross your legs, hold your hands, and listen. 

Visual examples include (but are not limited to) an older therapist sitting back in their chair, whose eyes are still full of wonder despite having heard it all; a timely old grandperson adjusting their recliner to listen to their six-year-old grandchild talk endlessly about their activities at school;  a principle pushing their chair a little closer to hear about why little billy punched little timmy in the face; little billy squirming nervously in his cheap plastic chair telling his side of the story while waiting to hear what punishment will be laid down on him; a professor leaning back on their leather deskchair after a student of theirs begins to explain why they deserve a better mark; one half of a best friend pair waiting to meet the other half at a coffee shop, rehearsing in their head how to explain why they were no longer single; a coach sitting awkwardly on one of those small cheap foldable chairs about to hear why you were more interested in the buttercups on the field then the ball; a parent sitting on the edge of an old red theatre seat the moment before their child would begin their well-practiced monologue in front of the crowd. 

I will forever remain happy with a warm fog, a nice chair, and a good story to hear. 

7/10 Fog. 



 

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