Every spring on the prairies there were a zillion “teas” like we were supposed to be impressed that we were throwing off the heavy blankets of our strong coffee winters and embracing light and airy tea because nothing says spring like “tea.”
I mean it is not like we didn’t have cute little farm animals being born and pretty flowers blooming in the fields and even young men and young women getting frisky but oh my gosh … spring … tea … you get the connection right??
But we had many, many, many, spring teas. There were many. One such tea was the annual “Strawberry Tea.” They obviously were building on the “let’s throw words and concepts together that have zero connection or meaning to what we are doing” concept as I don’t ever remember there being any strawberries anywhere . . . not in the tea and not in the cakes. Strawberries don’t even grow in the spring! But we pretended.
We were women and we were all going to pretend that we all knew what we were doing and why it was happening. Women do that well. Look how we breeze through puberty and do the whole getting married, having babies and stuff. None of us has a clue what any of that is about but we fake it and we look good while we fake it. We had been snowed in for weeks. We had all lived for most of those weeks with layers and piles of clothing – much of it flannel and serviceable and some of it really tacky with mismatched patterns. Perhaps that was more to the point of why a spring tea … because it meant we could take off the flannel underwear, put on a pretty frock and let our pasty white legs feel a little sunshine. Continue reading “Strawberry Fields Forever.”