Trophy

It had been a tiring day for me, so my husband graciously offered to make the afternoon tea. Telling me to lie down and rest, he buzzed off towards the kitchen. I gratefully slumped down on the bed and was halfway in the process of closing my eyes when his head popped in through the door. "There's some used tea leaves in the pot. What shall I do with it?" he queried.

"Throw it away and rinse the pot", I replied patiently.

He buzzed off a second time. I was once more about to close my eyes when back he came to ask "How much water's to be boiled ?"

"Two cups", I said and resolutely proceeded to close the eyes. A few moments later he reappeared with the question "How much tea should I put in?"

"Two teaspoons." Off he went again.

Some moments passed. Then came my hero's voice again with yet another question "What's to be put first in the cup ?"

"Sugar, then milk powder, then pour the tea." He hurried away again.

By this time I was really longing for tea. I sat up and waited eagerly. Minutes ticked by. The tea-longing became feverish. Still it kept me waiting.

At last, after some ten minutes' wait, back came my husband, yet unaccompanied by tea cups. Instead, he was shaking a scalded hand. We frantically looked for the elusive Burnol tube that was never found twice in the same place. We tried all the places it had resided in before—under the bed, behind the bookshelf, on the dressing table, inside the shoes, under the pillows —all in vain. In sheer desperation I happened to look into the medicine box where it had never been found before. There it was, playing hide-and-seek. I grabbed the thing by the neck and squeezed it out on the scald. Then the chivalrous knight marched back to the kitchen, determined not to give up the fight though wounded.

At long last he marched back, triumphant and beaming, carrying the trophy—the much awaited tea.
"It calls for a celebration", I said.
"Yes, it's a great victory", he solemnly replied.