She had been silent, but now she decided to broach the subject. At the Botswana Secretarial College, where she had obtained the hitherto unheard-of result of ninety-seven per cent in the final examinations, Mma Makutsi had been taught that it was always better to raise issues of office procedure rather than to brood over them. “There is nothing worse, ladies, than muttering about something,” said the lecturer. “If something is wrong, then raise it. Not only is that better for you—nursing a grudge makes you far less efficient in your work—but it is also much better for your boss. So spit it out, and always remember this: a problem shared is a problem solved.” Or had she said, A problem shared is a problem halved? It was difficult to remember these things when there were so many proverbs jostling to give advice. Locusts do not land only on the land that belongs to your neighbour. The person who lies by the fire knows how hot it is … And so on; all of these sayings were undoubtedly true, but might still quite easily be forgotten—until the moment you found yourself doing exactly the thing that the proverb warned you against.

Perhaps there was a saying warning you against questioning the size of another’s teapot; something like, A teapot is only as large as it needs to be, or Do not talk about the size of another’s teapot when … No, this was nonsense, Mma Makutsi decided, and there was no reason at all why she should not raise the matter with Mma Ramotswe, who was reasonable, after all, and full of proverbs too.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began.

Mma Ramotswe looked up from her desk. She smiled. “Thinking? We all have a lot to think about, I suppose.”

Mma Makutsi busied herself with the kettle. “Yes, Mma. You know how sometimes a good idea comes to you? You don’t necessarily think about it deliberately, but it just comes. And there you have your idea.”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And what idea do you have, Mma Makutsi? I’m sure it will be a good one.” She was always polite—and encouraging too; a lesser employer might have said, Thinking? There is work to do, Mma! Or, even more discouragingly, I am the one to do the thinking round here, Mma!

Mma Makutsi glanced at Mma Ramotswe. There was no trace of sarcasm in her voice; Mma Ramotswe did not believe in sarcasm. “This idea is about teapots. About efficiency and teapots. Yes, it’s about those two things.”

“Good,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Anybody who could invent a more efficient teapot would be doing a great service to …” She paused, before concluding: “to all tea-drinking people.”

Mma Makutsi swallowed; sometimes it was easier to deal with a hostile reaction rather than a welcoming one. “Well, I don’t think I could invent a new teapot, Mma. I am not that sort of person. But—”