The Story Behind My Teacups

Dusty cups sit atop worn racks and mismatched tables. Plates, of every hue and fashion, lay haphazardly on a squeaky floor. Visitors creep in, tiptoeing around antique displays and serving platters. Shoppers whisper unnecessarily — loud words might disrupt the stillness of this French porcelain shop.

Most women in their twenties dream of haute couture and St. Germaine des Pres. I went to France with porcelain in mind. I was once one of those visitors, exploring the quaint porcelain store. And I spent hours debating which cups would make the trip back home.

On my flight to Miami, my suitcases carried those intricately wrapped jewels: teacups, coffee cups and dessert plates. Today, they sit in my kitchen, in a cleared drawer. There, they await early morning brews and afternoon tea times.

The wait is never long.