|Before you ask, that is Andy's arm and no, I didn't know I was taking a picture of it.|
I took the mug home, washed it, and I have used it every day since.
This morning I woke up, boiled water, and promptly dropped my Payne's mug on the ground, shattering it into tiny pieces at my feet. I then spent the remainder of the time I had to get ready searching through the whole house for a broom and dustpan.
We have no broom or dustpan.*
When I finally used some kind of brush to sweep up the tiny bits of pottery, I had to use a spare sheet of paper to scoop up the debris.
That mug lasted only FOUR DAYS in my care. I bought it Friday night, so I'm not counting Friday, and I broke it this morning, so I'm not count
ing today. Only FOUR DAYS. That poor mug deserved better. It deserved a less clumsy person and a kitchen with floors that are not so unforgiving. It deserved a LIFE.
But no. And now I feel like I shouldn't get another fancy mug somewhere, because I am not responsible enough to own a nice mug. I need gross dollar store mugs that break when you look at them. I need disposable cups.
And when all of the cleaning was said and done, I went tea-less because there was no time to make it. Tea-less Laura. What sorrow. I mean, I went to work and made tea, but it's DIFFERENT tea. This is ginger and citrus blend, not my orange pekoe, which means no milk and sugar, which means work tea is actually AFTERNOON tea, not morning tea. All of this means my day is already ruined.
This whole situation Payne's me. (See what I did there?)
Well. That was my morning. How was yours?
* This may be untrue, but, if we have either, they are out in the garage or in the shed or perhaps stored in a plastic tub in the basement, sealed away until they are rediscovered by archaeologists under a car park 500 years from now, like Richard III's bones.