Remember Me as a Time of Day

A friend once told me, after prompted, that he will remember me as 4:30pm.  Tea time.  I didn't ask him to defend his answer because I feared the explanation would be either dreadfully shallow or simply that he knows I like tea.  Besides, I would rather brood over possible, romanticized explanations myself.  

It is true that I have a strong affection for tea, especially in the early evening.  I also used to frequent his room each night around that time.  In that way, tea time and I are both monotonously predictable.  My life is mostly dictated by routine, as is tea's.  Perhaps I sometimes brought him comfort and a sense of warmth.  And when free associating with tea time Britain often comes to mind, we will be traveling there together next fall.  

Yet for all of tea's virtues it is not everyone's (please pardon this painfully obvious pun) cup of tea.  Or perhaps they tolerate tea, but prefer coffee.  Is tea time so expected it lacks the intrigue of more spontaneous dining experiences?  Tea requires some patience, like any good relationship, as nothing is more unpleasant than a scalded tongue from a too-hastily sipped cup.  After burning your mouth, nothing quite tastes the same.  Be careful not to leave the tea alone for too long as it grows bitter and sharp with over-seeping, over-exposure, over-trying.  And must we always tone it down with biscuits, milk and sugar?  Such distractions, one lump or two?

You must grant kudos for its ability to make the best of a bad situation though.  No one handles being thrown into hot water quite as resourcefully as a tea bag, except for maybe me.