I tend to name things.
I've named a lot of my clothing and shoes - my tarty boots, my octopus shirt, my tough girl boots, my erection skirt, my tan librarian dress - and so sometimes, when I'm trying to figure out what to wear, Nick will suggest particular pieces of clothing or footwear. By name.
At some point he told me he'd never, ever have predicted that he'd: meet someone who named her clothing and shoes; then learn the names of them; and actually spend enough time thinking about her shoes to recommend wearing "tough girl boots" with a particular outfit.
I've not gotten much further in his closet than the cocksucker suit, but with time, I will.
So Nick, he drinks tea rather than coffee. He has the English mother. He grew up drinking tea.
He likes to brew it in a pot, although that's more on the weekend. For weekday morning consumption, he brews it in a single cup with a little strainer. Me, I am all about the coffee.
He has a shelf full of different teas. He is particular, and he prefers loose tea. So recently he bought this special black tea. It's Indian, I think, although it might be Chinese. I can't even remember the name of it.
Because from the beginning, I've called it "foot tea."
You see, to me, it smells like what I think the smell would be if you boiled up a bunch of binding cloths. As in, those cloths that they used to use to bind the poor tortured feet of upper-class Chinese women. And tangentially, have you ever read The Binding Chair: or, A Visit from the Foot Emancipation Society? It's a very compelling read.
In any case, it's a gross way to describe it, I know, and maybe thinking about it makes you throw up a little in your mouth, but this is what it evokes for me. Not that I have ever smelled them. But that doesn't stop me from imagining.
But this morning I was the early bird, and I was brewing both.
"The water just boiled. Which one would you like?"
"Foot tea, please."
Usually he gets up first, and he makes the tea and coffee. So I hadn't realized till this morning that the name had stuck.