I just love my coffee mug.
It just sits there waiting for me, as regular as clockwork, in the mornings. It takes the granules of coffee and sugar so nicely. Then, it’s ready for the hot water and just sits there, steaming. The milk stirs and swirls beautifully when the spoon is applied. It accepts it all so well. My mug is decorated with a sketch of a bird. It has a smooth flared lip and a handle just the right size. I’m glad it has lots of siblings because I have broken it twice. Each time, I have found one in shops where its brothers and sisters are sold. Even when I am not drinking from it, it is my companion.
I just love my coffee mug.
Is it so wrong to have special feelings about an inanimate object?
I think not!