Susan could never repress the shudder the wracked her lithe body whenever she entered her grandmother's kitchen. For you see, everywhere she looked, there were teapots. Tall teapots, short teapots, fat teapots, thin teapots. Teapots shaped like dogs or cats, birds, horses, pigs, bears even people. Although some were less iridescent than others, there wasn't a single teapot that didn't have a garish streak of colour to it. In particular was the clown teapot sitting alone in the corner of the counter. It had big, swollen lips that stretched unnaturally across its bloodless face. Lips that failed to cover protruding teeth. It's nose perched precariously in the middle but despite its unrealistic size, it still failed to cover up the round bulging blue eyes that seemed to leer at her from wherever she stood. To say she hated that teapot was an understatement.