My coffee mug story
I always think you can tell a lot about a person by his mug, and shoes.
I still get a rude shock at the pantry sometimes when finally owner and mug meets. It’s quite like the feeling you get when you hear someone’s voice for the first time and start imagining how they’d look like. 10 out of 10 times, their voices don’t match their faces. For mugs and owners, the statistic is probably much lower.
Because unlike voices, you can actually decide how your mug looks. (Except that colleague who’s forced to use his Mickey & Minnie matching mug set his wife bought for him.)
There are those who use “National Health Awareness Day 1998” cups chipped at the edges and yellowed from coffee stains, because they simply can’t be bothered to buy a cup and any cup will do as long as it’s a cup, period. (read: too pragmatic and usually straightforward, probably shops at G2000 way too much for your liking unless you shop at G2000 too & no, there’s nothing wrong with that)
There are those just concerned enough to grab a decent looking $2 mug off Daiso shelves (read: what others think of them matters, but they’d rather not sweat the small stuff because it’s not going to matter really in the grand scheme of things).
And then there are those who behave as if their mugs are an important extension of their personality and hunt day and night for that perfect mug (read: too much time on their hands, too obsessed with aesthetics, and hoarder of beautiful things).
I think I’ve found my perfect mug today.
Simple white ceramic with charming scalloped edges, a prim-looking handle, and an owl-some surprise that awaits you when you finish your coffee.
So what’s your coffee mug story?