A Right and Proper Tea Party
To have a right and proper tea party, you must wear the right and proper clothing—and that means a gown, a hat, and gloves (yes, gloves). And not the kind you wear to make and throw a snowball or three. No, gloves for a right and proper tea party must be white and end just at your wrist—not an effective glove at all if you ask me, but absolutely essential for having a tea party. How else is your pinky finger to rise as you sip your tea? It is impossible otherwise.
But we are getting ahead of ourselves. How you are dressed is important, surely, but not nearly so important as the inviting which begins the whole process.
And it goes like this:
Julia makes her way down the long drive to the swing where Hannah’s set herself for the morning.
“Hello,” she says. “We are having a tea party today—would you like to come?”
It turns out she does.
She jumps off the swing much earlier than intended and makes her way with Julia back up the long drive to the House Up Front (asking her Mother first, of course).
The table on the back porch as been covered with a plain white sheet and set with china of the treasured variety, and by that, I mean a chipped cup with a splatter of roses painted here and there with a plate to match (that one’s for Julia), and an emerald green cup so fragile it scarcely stays put. That’s been set next to a pink plate dotted with darker pink flowers. There are napkins with forks and spoons and the like, and of course, a teapot with a sugar bowl and creamer. And if all this were not enough, the table also has a bowl filled to the brim with flowers of the sun variety!
Hannah sways in awe. And Julia’s just begun! She grabs her by the hand and takes her inside where stoles and caps, hats, and gowns, and of course, gloves, are on display for any and all little girls to pick from.
Julia chooses a white gown and a brown fur stole, a yellow hat (to match the sunflowers, of course!) and white gloves. Hannah goes with a blue gown, white hat, and no stole. Fur is not her thing.
Together they take their seats at table. Steaming steeped tea is poured into each cup.
Now, let’s take a closer look. Yes. Their pinky fingers are risen. They’ve chosen the right and proper gloves.
Tea sandwiches are nibbled on and cookies munched.
“Mother,” Julia says, importantly. “May I please have more tea? It appears we have run out.”
Mother rushes in to see for herself. Indeed, it is true. The teapot is empty. That is quickly remedied.
Hannah and Julia resume the festivities until the terrible and dreadful occurrence. Yes. It is true. Peter arrives.
“What’s going on?” he asks, picking up a cookie with his whole hand (it pains me to say it) before shoving it into his mouth.
“A Right and Proper Tea Party,” Julia answers. “Now, leave us alone!”
But he can’t. He won’t. Now that he’s tasted and seen that tea parties are good—Well, at least the cookie part is.
He digs into the bowl, grabbing two more.
“MOTHER!” Julia cries, and the woman herself comes running. But it’s too late. All the cookies are gone. And in his attempt to grab any and all said cookies, the tablecloth has been crumpled and more than one little girl greatly disturbed.
Julia’s Mother comes and sees all. And, being a wise sort of woman, does what any wise sort of women does. She changes the subject.
“There, there,” says she. “The party was all done anyhow. Why not go on the swing instead?”
And so, they do.
