“The CEO of Red Rose Tea Has Stepped on a Wade Porcelain Miniature for the Last Fucking Time,” by Catherine Davis

Jul 8th, 2015 | By | Category: Fake Nonfiction, Prose

Fucking Christ, my toe!

Ellie? Ellie! How did this get in here? Well, I’m sure the Wade Whimsies just came alive in the middle of the night and dispersed themselves throughout the shag carpet. Is that what I’m supposed to believe? That the genuine porcelain miniatures are following me around and burying themselves in my rug? That you weren’t carrying them around in your weird over-sized pouch-pocket doing god knows what while I was down at the halal cart?

Look, I’m aware I should be trying to maintain a certain level of professionalism as President and CEO of Red Rose Tea—a company that has been helping tea drinkers savor life’s moments with time-perfected blends of black, decaffeinated and specialty teas for more than a century. But I’m certain this bitch dropped a Whimsy on my rug, and she HAS GOT TO PAY.

Last month alone, I stepped on two of these rock hard gremlins, hand-crafted by Wade of England and only available in specially marked boxes of Red Rose Original, in the men’s locker room. I guess I’m supposed to assume one of our employees—an adult person who I give a salary and a gym membership to—was playing with Seahorse and Conch Shell in the shower?

Oh I know, I know, I’m upholding a legacy. “Baby Hippo is a family heirloom.” I get it all the time. “And who could forget Squirrel? Or Monkey? The whole of American Series Number One is a collectible treasure!”

Please. I would love to forget all of American Series Number One. And American Series Number Two. And the Circus Series. Dear God, the Circus Series. I would love to forget every single glazed goddamned rabbit that has wedged its pointy ceramic ears into the arch of my foot. But I can’t forget because of the bruises. I can’t forget because of the scars.

I can’t forget because every three to six years, I hear from our CMO that we’re introducing yet another collection—each one inevitably containing more ridged edges than the last. And, I’m sorry, but there are only so many different ways to make an inch-long mold of an elephant. And I’ll tell you what.

I JUST CAN’T EVEN RIGHT NOW.

No, meditation doesn’t help. They said it would, they all said it would. So I sat down, on this shag carpet, in a fit of anxiety. Let me say, getting Noah and his wife lodged up your asshole is enough to turn a guy off meditation for the rest of his life. No, the only thing that calms me down is tea. A big hot cup of organic, fair trade certified, Twinings Tea.
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Defenestration-Catherine DavisCatherine Davis is a writer and comedian from New York City. She likes boats, but not the ocean.

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