If one more thing falls out of the cupboard and on to the counter top or the floor, while I’m trying to organize the overabundance of tea bags and boxes I have somehow accumulated, I am going to fly into a fit of tea-bag-ripping rage that may require my hospitalization. You think I’m kidding? I’m not.
I have been trying to reorganize my kitchen cabinets over the past few days. Moving piles of things from one place to another. This here. That there. Oh so much better. Pitching food that I just “had” to have on hand that is now 8 years old and was the feast for some unknown beetle species and its kin whose exoskeletons are my tip for exemplary service and selection. Ingrates.
Every time I feel I’m making progress in one area, a finger gets hooked on something or I’m carrying or moving too many things at once, and entropy balances the equation. Everything falls towards the floor in a whirling, water color mosaic of arms spinning, seemingly juggling cans and boxes and brightly colored kitchen towels and individually wrapped tea bags from vintages that are certainly unpalatable in 2013. Everything moves away from me in a rainbow spray of metal, cardboard and packaging fit to hang in the Louvre, all having served its purpose in landing it on the shelves of my overcapacity kitchen.
The imagery of this tea bag fury makes me smile, even though it’s NOT funny at all. Not at all.
Picture a grown man standing in a kitchen surrounded by piles, wearing a pair of bib overalls and a John Deere ball cap, holding a tiny tea bag by its corners, 6 inches in front of his face, eyes bulging and locked on target, elbows bent, shaking the bag back and forth, threatening to rip the thing in two, spilling its tea-guts all over the floor and vocalizing in such a primitive manner that animals for a half mile run for cover.
Keeping a grip on that dainty tea bag is so emasculating. I feel the urge to lift my pinky but resist. This is no way to relieve my frustration. I need to swing my arms around in huge arcs knocking things over, all the while feeding my anger while I stomp around the room, humprf and fuck and Ahhhhhhhh the only sounds I can make. I need to throw something heavy, preferably glass, and see it explode against the far wall, sending shards in every direction, fueling my rage as the thought of needing to clean that shit up too surfaces through the wail of the banshee echoing in my head. I sustain the shriek a few seconds too long, shredding my throat as the anger climbs up and out. Trying to rip a tea bag in 2 with the threat of tortures unable to be written about here, just makes everything worse. I look like those comical drawings of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, with its tiny arms trying to do something it just can’t to, flaying away in a windmill of futility. All that power. A giant, meat eating monster, with useless arms that dangle there, betraying the ferocious beast to which they are attached.
Ok…a few minutes have passed. My anger is lessening. I’m calming down.
As I continue to spin down, I decided to search the web for funny T. Rex pictures, hoping to find one with a T. Rex and a tea bag, but no such luck. I’ll need to draw that picture myself or get as close as I can…how about this?
I also “tumbled” across a set of very clever drawings. Please pay a visit to: trextrying.tumblr.com (Very funny stuff).
This is my current favorite. Just imagine that bar and the weights are tea bags. Now you’re feelin’ me…