A Sentimental Mug

I get sentimental about the most random objects. Recently, a mug got a crack in it, coffee leaking slowly out through the whole height of it. I liked that mug. It was a good size for a coffee, and a red colour that wasn’t too bold or too pink. It was a Kris Kringle present from years ago, the job before my last one. It came filled with Lindt chocolate balls. I used it at work for a bit then took it home where it became my main coffee mug after the tragic death of the blue funny face mug I’d bought to match my green funny faced tea mug.

Writing this I realise it’s mugs that seem to interest me, but I can’t say why. Right now on my desk are two mugs, both had coffee in them, I’m a slacker and forgot the first one. It’s a white one with the words ‘I’m silently correcting your grammar’. My niece gave it to me a few years ago, and everyone seems to find it most apt. I do do it silently. The other is a Star Wars mug with pretend posters based on The Force Awakens. It was from my wife and son.

Who’d have thought inexpensive mugs would make such treasured gifts? They’re impermanent, as the puddles of coffee under my red mug prove, but they last years, and with every sip there's a reminder that for a moment in some chain store someone thought of you.

Sentimentality is seen as a weakness at times. Certainly, if I actually cried over the mug there’d be reason to question things. But, if it is a matter of association and remembrance, perhaps it’s good to be sentimental, even over inconsequential things like coffee mugs.

Don’t get me started on teacups.

Keep dreaming.