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A German obsessed with my tea

Amsterdam, autumn 2000 —

My German housemate is obsessed with my tea. It's annoying beyond all proportion, and I'm going to have to ask him not to talk about it any more.

I drink tea. I make a cup of tea for any reason, or for no reason. It is confounding to me that this could be fascinating to a grown man of above-average intelligence.

But once or twice a week, when Robert and I are home at the same time and he sees me getting a second cup, he will say — you could set your watch by it — "you are having another cup of tea?"

For a while I was eating spaghetti a lot, and Robert also found this quite intriguing. I admit, spaghetti every day for a few days in a row isn't Galloping Gourmet — but it's not that fascinating, either.

It's the little things that really pry themselves into my head wind up taking more space than they deserve. And, as strange as it may sound, I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to ask Robert if we can stop talking about my tea.

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