Occasionally our work of tea has unforeseen, hilarious, and somewhat dangerous side effects.
The morning we finished the R&D part of creating our goat’s milk cocoas was one of these times.
We had finished the testing, with near a quart of tests consumed during the process, and were tossing about various ideas for names. Mister Tea was leaning towards atrocious wordplayville, while I was obsessing over attaching it to a book I’d read recently, wherein the author portrayed a goat near perfectly.
I had commented on wanting to ask the author if he had spent any time around goats, due to his apparent deep understanding of goat psychology.
Mister Tea quipped, “Be evil, to a point. Eat ALL The Things.”
Which finished sinking in just as I took another sip of the gigantic Doctor Who mug of cocoa testing. Laughter threatened. I am certain my plight was hilarious looking, as I tried to ease down the impending laughter, without having anything explode.
The playlist track changed.
Mister Tea was defending his part in my circumstance by indicating, rightly, that he had finished his comment before I had taken a drink. Unfortunately he followed this with, “Or were you just visualizing Elvis Costello dancing like Elvis Presley.”
That was it, I was done. There was no longer any control over the imminent laughter. I waved him out of the way of the sink with desperation, and managed to not quite injure myself with the cocoa.
The laughter was a completely different matter. Helpless. The sort that can be painful even if you don’t have overly flexible bones/joints and a Jenga-spine. I have a long history of laughing, and then laughing because it hurts, which makes everything even funnier, and….
I managed to get “Parkour” out through gasps and laughing, referencing the above Twitter conversation, as my ribs were moving in ways… that really shouldn’t happen, and my spine was threatening to turn off important things. Like legs.
Mister Tea: “What have I told you about Parkour in the house!” Though, at this point he was done, too. Between he and the Wolfhound (who was very confused by her humans’ antics) I was eased to the floor when my legs quit, and the two of us cackled madly until the humour responses passed.
It was fun. Painful, yes. But life is better when automatic eye leakage is provoked, in part, by laughter.
This is sometimes what work looks like in our house.