Thursday, February 16, 2012
One night this week I came home, plopped myself on the couch and started to slowly take off my boots. And then I heard SubHub from the kitchen asking me to make him some tea. For the past few months the man really got into tea, and guess who was making it for him?
The only thing I wanted at the moment was to take off my boots, stretch my feet and decompress for five minutes before tackling homework with kids. So I told SubHub, "Look, you are right there next to the stove, why don't you do it?" SubHub replied that I didn't understand and could I make him tea? I tried to suppress frustration and said, "Fine, put the kettle on the stove, that's all I ask, and in five minutes when the thing whistles, I'll make you tea." SubHub insisted that I didn't understand him and yes, could I make him tea. Part of me was - shall we say not happy with him, another part tried to understand why it was so important that it was I who had to make him damned tea and what childhood trauma led to this sad state of affairs, and yet another part thinking that maybe I forgot that "making tea" was a code for something else. It was not.
I wasn't trying to hide my annoyance any more and said, "I am really tired, but fine, I will make you your tea." To which SubHub looked funny at me, half smiled and said, "You really didn't hear me at all, all those times." I looked at him not quite understanding.
"All this time I was offering to make YOU a cup of tea because you looked so tired."
We laughed, then we laughed some more, we finally drank tea - don't remember who ended up making it, but I keep wondering some days later, how many times do I hear what I expect instead of what is said, let alone meant? Scary stuff.