I don’t drink tea*.
Wait, wait, don’t leave! I have a good reason, I promise. Let’s call it ‘tea-related childhood trauma’ or something.
Imagine this: you are young, and you get up early every morning so that you can have breakfast with your father before he goes to work. Sometimes he works out of town and is away for a week or more, so this is a special time of the day, when it’s still dark and the house is quiet, you can pretend that this is all there is. You and him, enjoying toast, and a little conversation.
You drink milo, but your father drinks tea. He has this habit of dunking his toast, laden with peanut butter and jam, or just jam, or jam and honey, into his tea, making it a soggy mess, before eating it. You think that maybe it’s like when you dunk gingernuts into your milo, except that a biscuit doesn’t disintegrate like toast. But really, you think nothing of it, it’s just part of the routine.
Until you give it a go yourself, and find something lurking at the bottom of your cup. A mass of grossness. Jam and bread and peanut butter, clumped together and threatening to slide into your mouth as you try to drink the last bit of your tea.
And you can never look at a cup of tea the same way, not after that, because you are always wondering if there is something there, hiding beneath the calm surface of that tea. In fact, it puts you off drinking any hot drinks until your mid 20’s.
See, I DO have a good reason, at least, it is for me, because sometimes the things you see in childhood stay with you even when they are irrational.
However, last night, Hubby mentioned thinking that he might need a tea infuser, and I went looking on Etsy. Dangerous, silly move, Cassie. Now I want a tea infuser, like this tardis one, or this octopus (despite the fact it only has 6 tentacles). I think the Manatea is super cute, and WEEPING ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!! Adorable.
I am not sure I can bring myself to drink regular tea, but maybe I could do herbal infusions? There is something appealing about that, perhaps this way of making tea has a sense of ritual about it for me that a tea bag does not.
I might be swayed. I very much would like a tea infuser, though whether it’s enough to make me push past my revulsion is yet to be seen.
*The only time I drink tea are when I visit my elderly grandmother and she insists on making me a hot drink and forgets that I asked for coffee. I would do just about anything for Nana, even drink tea.
I don’t drink tea*.