Alice was quite tired of the ordinary. She had spent the entire morning in the garden, trying to tell the difference between a dandelion and a daisy, and frankly, the flowers were not being cooperative. She sighed, leaning against an ancient, gnarled oak tree, and closed her eyes. It was then she heard a most peculiar sound: the gentle clinking of porcelain teacups.
Her eyes snapped open. The sound wasn’t coming from the ground, or the hedge maze, but from a small, ornate teapot dangling from a branch just above her head. It swung gently, its painted flowers winking in the dappled sunlight. As she stared, a wisp of steam curled from its spout, spelling out a single word: “Tea?”
“How curious,” Alice said to herself. She reached up and, with a slight tug, the entire teapot detached itself from the branch and settled softly into her hand. As she held it, the teapot began to grow, and grow, until it was taller than she was, with a small, circular door where the base had been. A tiny sign on the door read, “Do Not Enter, Unless You’re Quite Lost.”
Lost was exactly what Alice felt like, so she pushed open the door and stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of Earl Grey and crumpets. She found herself in a room where everything was upside down. Teacups floated on the ceiling, dripping tea onto the floor. Saucers spun like tops on the table, and a small, round cake was singing a cheerful, off-key tune.
Seated at the table, perched on a sugar cube, was a dormouse wearing a thimble for a hat. “You’re late,” it squeaked without looking up.
“Late for what?” Alice asked, her head tilted to the side to see the teacups better.
“The Topsy-Turvy Tea Party, of course!” the Dormouse replied. “We only have them on Tuesdays, and today is Thursday, so we’re celebrating Tuesday. It’s quite logical if you don’t think about it.”
Suddenly, a flurry of feathers landed on the table, and a robin with a top hat on its head began to lecture a floating teacup. “The proper way to pour tea,” it chirped, “is with an inverted teapot! It saves on spillage, you see, which is quite important when you’re upside down.”
The singing cake, which was now doing a jig on the table, chimed in, “And the proper way to eat a crumpet is from the inside out!”
Alice giggled. “That sounds rather messy.”
“Messy is a matter of perspective,” the robin said, tipping its hat. “A spill is just an unplanned design.”
Alice decided to join the fun. She carefully picked up a teacup that was dancing on the floor, poured a bit of tea from a floating pot, and sipped it. It tasted of starlight and jam. She didn’t stay too long, however, as the thought of eating a crumpet inside-out was still a bit too strange for her. She bid the Dormouse and the robin a fond farewell, stepping back out of the teapot and into the quiet garden.
The teapot was once again a small, ornate thing dangling from the oak tree. The flowers were still just flowers, and the world was back to its normal, uncooperative self. But as Alice walked home, she couldn’t help but smile. She knew now that even on the most ordinary of days, a bit of topsy-turvy adventure might be just around the corner.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 