Rest in Pieces

Finding a good mug is incredibly difficult. It takes many years to find that perfect vessel for your hot beverage but for a very long time I had this mug in my life. It was red (my favourite colour) and established my character quickly. It also felt damn good to drink out of. That mug departed from this world after a badly placed yawn and stretch combo that sent it hurtling to the ground. No longer will it bring coffee to my lips or bring a smile to my face as I ask myself: 'Which mug shall I use today?'

I am reminded of an anecdote I will never live down, despite being too young to even remember it, yet I still feel remarkably guilt for my actions. Apparently one night when I was around 3-4 years old I was being especially moody and just generally being rather grumpy and bad-tempered. In an effort to cheer me up Dad ran and got one of his childhood treasures: an egg cup in the shape of an owl. He showed it to me with great fondness and knew that it probably would lift my spirits. As soon as he passed it into my hands I hurled it to the ground in a fit of rage; it shattered instantly.

I would give anything to turn back time to prevent it from being smashed as I know that even today, I would love to know what that egg cup looked like.

Farewell to my most faithful of coffee companions after I scooped him back together again.