The Tea Service

The Tea Service

Her face red with anger, Michelle ripped open another box. “I can’t believe it! Of all the things I warned them about, that was number one on the list!”

George knew better than to even try and placate her, busying himself moving boxes onto the dining table for her to attack.

Married thirty years, Michelle handled the household, her word, absolute law. George took care of the outside and everything mechanical, though he accepted advice graciously. Michelle was well equipped to give advice.

Their friends marvelled at the longevity of their marriage, the patience George exhibited daily, wondering what their secret could be.

There were no secrets. It was simple; although he was as big as a bear, George was quite afraid of Michelle. She was nearly as petite as George was large, but Michelle had that characteristic common to “Southern Belles”; a vicious tongue, educated over the years, to bore in on any failing.

This move, the first in their years together, had brought Michelle’s tongue out in force. “No! Absolutely not!” At the news of George’s new promotion, requiring their move to Maryland. “You’ll fail miserably, we’ll end up destitute in a strange city. You haven’t the brains for such a position.”

George explained there was little choice. Either he accept the position and the move, or take early retirement. It took more persuasion, but Michelle realized that if George retired now, their lifestyle would drastically change, her financial ability to acquire her precious antiques would be limited. It would also mean George would be home all the time, a thought not conducive to Michelle’s reign as queen.

One thing after another, she had found fault; the new house wasn’t large enough, not in the right neighborhood. The movers were inept thugs, not fit to handle precious cargo. It was a miserable six months, but finally they were here.

“Don’t just stand there like a big lummox! If that tea service is lost or damaged, there will be hell to pay!” As was her wont, Michelle had obsessed on finding an inconsequential silver tea service she rarely used.

George knew that she cared little for the silly thing, but it gave a focus for her anger. Once it was found, there would be other points of focus, most likely continuing for months, maybe years.

At last, George found the carton the words TEA SERVICE, written in Michelle’s own hand. Relieved that finally this tirade would end, he carefully opened the carton to be sure.

Yes! Thank God! He carried the carton into the dining room just as Michelle erupted again.

“George! Would you quit dilly-dallying and get in here! This dining room is absolutely the wrong color, didn’t you listen to my instructions?”

The relief vanishing quickly, George sat the carton down. Carefully removing the heavy silver kettle, he smashed Michelle in the back of the head, once, twice, several times. The blood spray covered the eggshell dining room walls. “Is that more to your liking?” he asked.