Should you be looking that close?

I burst forth into speech much like a balloon bursts when popped. "You know what life does? You know what it is, with all it's rushing and sharp corners, and tight pants, I mean, come on! It's enough! We know you can buckle. And all the little odd bits that sit around the place without fitting into anything. Like, say you suddenly laugh while waiting in line at the shops. There's no reason to laugh, but you do, well where does that go? Where does that fit? That shot of giggles? That-"
"Oh yes, please do," he spits out with a severe frown that sits neatly inside a frame of dark, chalky brown hair combed back into a hard quiff. "Tell us all about life and the happenings."
"It's all in the bits. You don't need string! Throw it away!" I grab his tea cup and toss it over my shoulder.
"I- I- wh- I beg your pardon!"
"Yes," I ponder, looking at a brown smudge on the white tablecloth, "We have to stop attending tea parties."
"That was my favourite cup!" he bangs a fist on the table.
"That old raspberry pink thing? With the flowers?" I look up to find him glaring at me, positively burning his gaze into my head, as if he were trying to memorize every hair follicle on my head. I can feel myself blushing. "How very sweet of you, Gordoune, I mean, I cannot even say, but you'll be there for hours, hours-"
"You see here, young lady..."
I stare at him, obviously shocked at this unplanned outrage.
"I've had that teacup since I was ELEVEN!"
"Goosedrouse..." I say quietly, tilting my head at the other seats around the table, "...keep the tone mild, like a korma curry, yeah?"
He glares.
"The guests..."
"GENERATIONS have I had that cup! Haven't I? Since the Mildred's took over- no, it was the Perthreds... was it?"
"Certainly was," I agree. He stares off into the distance, still frowning, still sleek and short and somewhat pale. I pick up the teapot. It's not heavy like it should be so I put it back down.
"Ummm, Germinter, you didn't bring any tea biscuits with you? Did you? From the Foodit? The ones with the cream filling?" (I do like a center filled with cream).
There is a millisecond in which he stands as still as a statue, up on the chair- because of his height shortage- his hair and features frozen like an ice sculpture.
"Or chocolate?" I try desperately.
Then a light breeze drifts through our table of fun times and he sags as only a short, sleek, well-angered specimen can. "There is no sweet things now. The way of the world surely is a fierce maze of debacle, of calamity!"
I snort, "Debacle! Oh, Gingerferzen! You are one hilarious little person."
He turns to me and points a round finger, and I think: Me? He's pointing his little finger at me, for what? Organizing the flowers in spectacular bouquets of orange and lime? Then I think: Does he sand his fingers back each night, to keep them looking so short and stubby and perfectly round?
"YOU!" he hisses. I feel his spit and a slight curiosity to know where this is going. (I do love a good mystery solved).
"Yes," I reply pleasantly.
"You prance about here as if you know everything! Yo-"
"Ho now! I do not prance about-"
"You lift!" he continues, ignoring my plea for innocence. "You chartle and churtle and chuck things over your shoulder!"
"It's true," I acknowledge, "I do."
"Always your LEFT shoulder! As if that has some sort of meaning or power! Is it magical? Can you say without unleashing a hideous throng of infesting creatures?!"
"I feel kind of attacked."
"SO YOU SHOULD!" he quivers in his silky cream button up shirt and suspenders.
I put my hands behind my head and rock gently on my chair. So far this tale has been nothing but secrets and lies. Where is the scandalous revelations? "I think you are slowing down, old man."
"Cerri!"
Could you tell a scandal if one came upon you? Or would you simply fall into it, unaware, not wanting to see but unable to look away?
"Come on then, Glorpsle, tell us the juicy pickings!"
"Cerri!"
He's still again. Staring off behind me with glassy eyes and a shiny complexion. Is that a white spot on his cheek?
I feel unappreciated. He could at least give me praise where praise is due, preferably to recognise the sneaky theft tactic I learned, and used, so we could have cups and saucers!
"Well aren't you a boring old, lame, pompish old, nutjob gn-"
"Cerri!"
Someone bursts into my life from the left.
"There you are!"
I gaze over at the boy. He's panting a little, as if he's been running, and he's covered in dirt.
"Hello there, are you here to join my tea-party?" I spread my arms out wide to show him exactly what he could be missing out on.
"Cerri, good god. I've been looking everywhere," he takes a few short breaths and comes closer. As he walks into the light, I notice his sparkly dark eyes, only they're not sparkly at the moment and I wonder why I thought they were. Oh.
"Jasper!" I call, even though he's only a chair-length away. "What a surprise!"
"Yes, hi there." He pulls the chair closer to him and sits down, looking around at the single flowers sitting in fat glass jars on every chair and the garden gnome standing straight and proud in the middle of the table.
"Garbensnouff was just telling me about his family heritage," I nod wisely at him, "I think maybe something about his aunt Miffen stealing his grandfather's tiara, or something else worthy of being unjust."
Jasper sighs. I observe him again and straighten my posture because he  looks tired and sad and a tad too tall for his jacket. "I'm sorry I didn't invite you. But I'm wearing my best dress because I thought you might show up anyway, and so that's the same as inviting you, so you should be grateful, and show that gratitude by handing out creamy biscuits," I cringe, eyeing the teapot. "And find some water. I didn't have a way into the kitchen."
"It looks great," he says. I smile. "But I think it's time to go. You kn-"
"No! Oh, let's stay a little while. We don't have to have tea, there's tap water over there, I mean, it's tap water, from a hose, but it won't kill you, although if you have your heart set o-"
"Ok!" Jasper raises his hands, and I feel a little unjust myself. People have killed each other to attend this party and he's sitting there acting like I'm reading him a lifespan blog of toenails.
"This is an exclusive party," I say harshly, turning away to grab a nearby teacup. "Only people of interest, worth, and the appropriate proportions are allowed to enter."
There's silence while I think up how I'm going to get out of pretending to pour tea, and then Jasper says with forced calm, "I'm sorry Cerri. I just didn't know where you were and I was worried."
"Pish!" I remark, waving to Goutstop, who is basking in the sun, probably hoping to tan over that hideous white patch on his cheek. "I've had company! The best! Now, pass me that teacup over there."
I throw it over my shoulder. He gives me another one and I throw that too. We throw the teacups behind us, like bad dreams, yelling and laughing and ignoring the scandalous cries of the guests and poor old Gwintsman-Gawd, and I think: These are the odd bits that life is made up of, and they fit right here.