It’s too pretty to be called a “mug” and it’s bigger than a cup, but I do call it a cup. This morning, as I was rushing out to go fishing, I had my hands overly full with fishing paraphernalia. In order to open the the truck door, I had to set my cup on the “side step” of my truck. I loaded all the gear, jumped in, and off we went.
Up the driveway incline, hard right-hand turn onto the highway, and pedal to the metal, 50 mph up the road. About one minute later, I reached for my oh-so-favorite coffee cup and screeched. “OH NO! MY HEATHER CUP!! MY POOR, POOR HEATHER CUP.”
Termite thought I was losing my mind. And I was momentarily insane over the mental image of my Heather Cup flying off the side step of the truck, shattering into a million pieces and being run over by every vehicle behind me.
I immediately pulled over, and there she was, still teetering dangerously near the edge of the side step–full of coffee. I gingerly picked her up and brought her into the safe confines of the truck interior.
I’m not sure how many years ago, but my little sister, Heather, bought beautiful matching cups for us to drink our favorite morning beverages in. We often drink from them while on the phone together. Sometimes when I go to visit, I take mine with me so we can drink from them in each other’s company.
Now, my Heather Cup is “The Little Cup that Could” hold on long enough for me to remember that I forgot her out there.
Isn’t she a beauty?
I was already having a bad-mood day (We got our fix), and if my Heather Cup would have been lost to me forever, well, I just don’t know exactly what craziness I might have committed!