when imagination intrudes on reality

The cup was exquisite; small with beautiful gold and brown patterns at the rim. The saucer had the same designs on it edges.

The cup was full with dark choclateey brown thick liquid. A small whisk of smoke was slowly uncurling itself...like a dame waking up from slumber…I look at it-suspicious and excited all at once.

The cup looks so delicate, I am afraid of holding it. I pick it up gently and inhale the fragrance. It’s too strong. Reminds me of sand dunes and carpets…and merchants on camels. I think of veiled women and the cling-clang of their jewels. I think of palm trees and oasis ...of men smoking hookah while belly dancers swayed in front of them...

In a matter of seconds my mind is romanticizing everything associated with this cup…making up stories and making me fall in love with it. That’s why I can’t resist anything which sounds alluring and mysterious. This is how I had fallen in love with Turkish coffee even before tasting it.

I bent my head and took a sip. It was thick and syrupy...and tasted like petrol...or maybe grease. My husband laughed at the face I made.

The image of the camels and the feel of sun on my skin disappeared and were replaced by that of a dark dingy car garage…oily hands and dirty faces.

I take a clean duster and wipe out all the nonsense my mind was making up.

I took a deep breath and took another sip. Unburdened of my imagination the coffee didn’t taste half as bad. What it lacked was milk. and had too much of sugar. It was thick...very thick sugary decoction!

After the fourth sip the taste had almost grown on me….but I was glad the cup was really small.

The cup was beautiful though....