My Little Golden Book of Phobias

For no reason, I'd like to talk about high tea. Because my mother was a Brit, I can make fun of the Brits. Besides their imperialistic tendencies and their irrational love of the Royals, they do tea. And high tea is perfect. My daughter once took me to the Queen Victoria (natch) tea shop for mother's day. You get your very own teapot with your very own tea made properly, loose leaves, pot heated first, etc. And you choose some fancy, you never heard of it, tea like Ceylon Moonrise or Precious Pearls Jasmine Spice. They bring a layered tray with sandwiches (crusts cut off!), cucumber and salmon with cream cheese, then little fruits all arranged and petit fours on the top.

The whole place was chintz, the walls, curtains, chair covers. I caught Eden reading a Martha Sterwart magazine while we waited to be seated. And high tea is properly eaten at 4-ish because you're gonna eat supper later, like at 8PM. That's when you dress for dinner. Imagine. And all that silverware. I have the silverware. It's in a box at the top of my shelves, tarnishing as we speak. I even have a special set used only for fish, with ivory handles (sorry elephants).

Every year I think I should give my kids this stuff so they can shlep it around with them and periodically polish it. But it's still here. What do you do with detritus from a previous age? Button hooks and darning eggs? Shoe horns and coal scuttles?