Not Honey

I stayed at home for Joella's home church this morning. Three of us lingered in the kitchen getting hot drinks.

One dear soul asked if we had any honey for her sore throat. I noticed the special jar with the amber liquid, sitting on the shelf looking as though it were very dear to one of the housemates, though I knew not to whom. Per our policy, however, it bore no one's name, officially making it free game. I was sure, therefore, that none of us would begrudge a guest using some of the precious honey.

I brought it down, and two of our guests added it to their tea. One had never tasted honey in tea before, and the other, as I said, had a sore throat, so may not have had the full enjoyment of the honey at any rate. They retired to the living room when Joella came into the kitchen and noticed the jar on the table.

"Isn't that Leah's hair-removal stuff!?" she exclaimed with wide eyes.

Startled I whispered, "What?! No. No, what!? It looks like honey! It's on the shelf where the honey goes! There's no label!"

"It's not honey," Joella responded with equanimity and mortification.

"What is in it?!"

"Just sugar, lemon, and water, I think. Maybe they won't notice. Just please don't give any more to my guests," and she placed it high up on the shelf while I stifled the loud laughter rolling upward in me.

Forgive me, Melissa and Shirley.