He set out their fine china, which, incidentally, was exactly the same as their regular china, and, indeed, their paper plates. In a manner of speaking.
What happened next was completely unexpected.
Or, rather, if you'd listened to his mother, it was unexpected, which is not what we meant at all, and, thinking back on it, "unexpected" may have been the wrong word to use.
Because he then laid out the silverware, which wasn't their finest, and wasn't technically silverware, but a collection of plastic sporks and knives they'd collected over the years from various eateries. Their finest silverware had been sold off in order to afford the lovely art deco sculpture of what was supposed to be a plant that resided in a prominent place in the parlour. So, in a manner of speaking, the silverware now occupying either side of the finest china on the dining room table was, indeed, presently their finest silverware, but by no means the finest silverware they'd ever owned.
So, if one were to be true to circumstances, there lay their finest china and silverware, and he looked out upon this, and it was good. Except he forgot the napkins.
So he headed into the kitchen, where he put the kettle on and walked over to the cupboard to get out the biscuits and cookies. This, also, was expected, and in the sense of the word that meant that while it wasn't necessarily a given conclusion owing to the state of events preceding, it was a likely one. Of course, getting napkins from the cupboard may have been a bit more expected than biscuits and cookies, but, upon opening the cupboard, and fully intended to get napkins, he realised he'd opened to wrong cupboard, found the cookies and biscuits there, and decided to take them out, as he liked cookies and biscuits with his tea. His shirt caught on fire briefly as he walked too carelessly too closely to the gas stove on which he'd set the kettle, and he put it out with the utmost of decorum, and in a matter of minutes of flapping his arms up and down against the flaming tails of his shirt. He placed the cookies and biscuits in well-ordered and segregated rows on a plate, and brought the plate out to the dining room and set it on the table.
For a few moments he bustled about the dining room, straightening the sporks and knives (which was difficult, as the clever combination of spoon and fork made all diagrams of place-setting obsolete, but such is the price of advancing technology, some things seem to get lost in favour of progress and are relegated to quaint obsolescence), knowing full well he'd have to soon return to the kitchen to fetch the kettle from the stove, albeit with certain new reservations about getting too close.
However, return he did, at the whistling of the kettle, and he poured out cups for seven, and then rang the bell to call the guests from the parlour to the dining room.
disclaimer:
Happy holidays from the sanemagazine/q.i.productions family to you and yours.
The above scene is provided for verisimilitude, which we'd found we'd been lacking. It incorporates guests, tea, biscuits and cookies, finest china and silverware, and a pleasantness that cannot be denied. It fills one with an incredible sense of calm.
It is the perfect issue to leave you with, as you partake, in the latter part of the week, in holiday cheer and the like, possibly finding yourself talking in hushed tones about the sort of feeling you got when you read this week's issue with your aunt, with whom you'd never had anything to talk about, as she always was quite a bit mad.
We also included, for that other holiday emotion of nostalgia, the holiday revised logo that we introduced last year, which we feel adds a delightful atmosphere to the page.
Again, shona nollaig daoibh agus bain teatnamh as seo.
Je cède!
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. predictions for the holidays.