My Coffee Cup

Here at home, I always drink coffee from the same cup.  The cup is forest green and has a brown bear and “Montana” embossed on the side that faces me as I drink.  I think I purchased the cup at Mammoth in Yellowstone Park about ten years ago.  My habit for using the same cup is so powerful, I will clean it for use if I find it with other unwashed strays in my kitchen sink in the morning—no matter how many other clean cups are sitting in the kitchen cabinet.

The odd aspect of my addiction to my coffee cup is the modest fact that the cup really sucks.  The cup is unduly heavy.  The handle is oversized and feels awkward in my hand.  I have noticed, over the years, that my cup is never chosen by anyone else if they peer into the cupboard and see it there with the others.

Why do I use the green cup?  Am I subconsciously punishing myself for squashing a billion ants on my childhood sidewalks?  Does the cup leach just a trace of sweet addicting poison into each cup of coffee I drink?   Does the cup make me look sexy by comparison?  Am I being controlled by aliens from an unseen planet?  Does this have anything to do with that time I hit myself in the head with a hammer?

While you are thinking about this, I need to go wash my coffee cup.  My coffee has finished evolving in the kitchen.

Have you ever noticed how brewing coffee sounds like voices telling you things?  

--Mitchell Hegman