Once Upon a Mother’s Day… at Our Imperfectly Perfect Tea Room
- Chris Fifty
- May 15
- 2 min read
So, picture this: New owner. Just three weeks in. Over 100 reservations for Mother’s Day.The kettle’s whistling, the tea is steeping, the scones are warm, and I’m ready to deliver a magical brunch.
Then—cue dramatic music—a carriage (okay, a dented SUV) pulls up and out tumble Cinderella’s evil stepmother and her two bratty daughters. Reservation in hand. Attitude in full swing.
Now, here’s the twist: due to sky-high demand, we decided to upgrade our buffet to table-side buffets. You still get all the delicious food, but now you don’t have to move your fairy-tale derrière to load your plate. Win-win, right?
Apparently not for these ladies.
Let me be clear: We are a space that celebrates imperfection. Crooked teacups? Quirky chairs? A slightly lopsided scone? YES PLEASE. Our charm is homegrown, from scratch, and slightly off-center—just like us.
But these three? They didn’t just dislike the vibe.They overstepped harder than a drunk flamingo in stilettos.
Between rants about “disorganization” (it was elderflower and whimsy, actually) and the Jackson Pollock-style blackberry carnage they left smeared across the floor, we knew this wasn’t a fairy tale—it was a full-on Grimm’s horror story.
We tried. Free meal. Endless mimosas. Kindness, patience, grace.
Still, they raged on.The matriarch looked one mimosa away from combusting. So… we did what anyone would do in a storybook gone wrong:We let them go.
Yes, even if they were "frequent customers." Because guess what? This isn’t a chain. It’s a one-of-a-kind, soul-filled, laugh-too-loud, perfectly imperfect high tea experience.And we’re not everyone’s cup of tea.
But to the dozen people who raved about our harvest salad, cheered for our homemade bread, and slurped up every spoon of our summer squash soup: THANK YOU. Na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye.
Catch us after hours, watching the store security footage for a solid laugh while sipping leftover rosé.
There’s always that one a-hole. Or in this case… three.
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