Bags of tea.

So, I've been drinking tea.

A really fun read. And a bonus(!)- you'll start talking like you're in 19th Century London!

I'm reading a delightful series of brain-candy books called the Parasol Protectorate by Gail Carriger and I just can't seem to stop myself from brewing up a cup of tea every time the wittily blunt and often-peckish heroine, Alexia Tarabotti, takes one herself. This happens a lot. Hence, my tea supply is greatly dwindling and I'm finding my increased caffeine intake favorable to a clean house and elaborate dinners on the table. The one thing I'm having a hard time with, however is the phrasing of my indulgences.

Is it just me or has the term "teabag" adopted such negative connotations that it's almost inexcusable to utter it in polite society? Well, unless you are a politician or a sex-trade worker, that is. What a shame. On the one hand, I hate to dredge up associations with the lewd act by the same name, and on the other hand I hate to dredge up almost as unsavory associations with the renegade political movement. What's a girl to do! I blush every time the water starts to boil.