I fear the tea party.
Tea is a very dangerous beverage. It is all that is sweet and perfectly adequate. It makes one forget why one has come, it makes one sleep and dream and soon one is too old to go.
Then there are the saucers. They're all round and painted in lovely colours. They all have darling models and sugar lumps on the side. The saucers spin so much that your eyes lose their eyesight. The sugar is poisonous and once you eat it, you do not want to eat anything else. So you die because I heard you need tomatoes and potatoes too to survive. Then the models come to life and it's so strange when they do; the hampers full of flowers dance along with the teddy-bears and then the sun shows its wide, sharp teeth and you want to run but you still find yourself at the tea party!
Then there is the small talk that everyone has during tea. I don't know what to say or how to act. Most of the times, I invent stories and subjects of conversation so that I can be polite, but everyone gets contradicted during tea and no one ever wins an argument.
And – if you accidentally spill some tea on the table cloth they will all call you clumsy and silly and make you feel very red.
Yet, despite all these displeasures, I like coming here. Here, tea really does make you forget who you are. Here, you're not in Wonderland, but Wonderland is in you.
