Sorry, this isn't really a post about "tea" in the strictest sense, so if you're from the Linnean Society, buzz off and read the best book on tea ever written if that's what you're looking for.
This is a true story and it's my story and campt you see ibe crambby and sick? Achhoo!
So for me, the best thing (actually, the only good thing) about having a cold is drinking steamy African red tea--made by my loving Hubby--from my Royal Doulton Brambly Hedge "Winter" tea cup. Does that sound too stuffy and cotton-top for you? I don't care. When I have a cold I am also selfish and 5 years-old.
Before I go on, note: I neither collect nor dsiplay tea cups, fine china, porcelain dolls, doilies or other Victoriana and bric-a-brac. My dust-collectors are books.
Now, here's the tizzle:
The winter Hub and I first dated was a bitter, snowy, windblow, record-breaking beast. Cold. (See the "dying without a lifeboat" scene from Titanic). Hub saw the adorable bunnies cuddled up to the fire on this cup in some shop and thought of me (where he was shopping at the time, or why, remains one of Hub's last close-hold mysteries). He bought it for me, served me tea while I studied in my bone-chilling grad student hellhole apartment. He also promised to get me each of the 3 remaining seasons in the set of 4 Brambly Hedge cups to show his love knows no limits of weather or time.
Long story short, the honeymoon on new love sets soon, and I gave up many colds ago on ever seeing the tea cups of Spring, Summer, Fall.
So there you go. Our love, Hub's and mine, frozen forever in one cozy snapshot scene of everlasting winter, with Hub as my repentent tea-brewing slave 'til the end of time.