Thursday, December 22, 2005

if a mug falls in the kitchen and the grouchy man downstairs isn't around to hear it, does he still get pissed?

This morning my favorite mug shattered all over the kitchen floor. (Because I dropped it; I should take ownership of that part. I'm the klutz.) It was more like a bowl with a handle, really; round, the color of cranberries, roughly the size of my head. It cradled my breakfast cereal every single morning for the last three years. I loved this mug because it understood that the average cereal bowl could not accomodate my morning appetite; It rose to this challenge day after day without ever losing its kiln-fired shine.

This is not a great tragedy. The mug had little sentimental value, just the merits of its perfect size and the fact that it took the guesswork out of breakfast. Usually my Weight Watchers®-brand OCD dictates that I measure every grain to be consumed. But the mug had rendered measuring cups nearly obsolete: When Special K crested the rim, the cereal was poured; When milk peeked through the flakes, it was time to dig in.

I've always been a believer in fate and omens. Maybe this incident is a wake-up call for me to examine the routines in my life. Or start wearing shoes in the kitchen. Or eat a little less at breakfast. Deciphering that hidden message will be a project for the weekend; In the meantime I'll simply count my blessings. The mug could have been full, after all, and while I'm not the type to cry over spilled milk, it would have been a real bitch to mop pottery shard soup from my kitchen floor. And the sight of a head-sized bowl of cereal going to waste -- delicious, nutritious, munchy, chewy cereal, my most favoritest thing in the whole wide world -- that might've been more than I could bear.

So my glass is half full. Because my mug was empty. And if I don't dredge up some decent blog material soon I'm going to have to start writing about my love life. Then we'll all have something to cry about.


(In memoriam: Faithful Cereal Mug, 2002 - 2005. Rest in Pieces, old friend.)

15 comments:

Chairborne Stranger said...

No he doesn't get pissed, and I thought it was very creative writing! LOL

Rhinestone Cowgirl said...

I, too, have an indescribable love for cereal. I've only told this story about 15,000 times, but my favorite birthday gift EVER was a refrigerator-sized box, wrapped up beautifully and tied with a bow, filled with zillions of boxes of Cheerios. ;)

I just started reading your blog - really great stuff! See you 'round.

always write said...

That? is like porn for me.

I'm gonna have sweet dreams tonight.

KCinDC said...

I dropped my cereal bowl a couple of months back (also fortunately empty). At least you didn't drop yours on your toe. The bruised nail has only just now returned to normal.

Good to meet you yesterday, though I didn't contribute to the Lilith Fair atmosphere.

Krisco said...

I love cereal, too. My absolutely favorite thing.

And yes, I think the old man was going to be cranky about the noise anyway. It was waiting for him, and when he came, CRASH!, he heard it. Hours later. Man, that pissed him off.

The Daily Rant said...

OMG...cereal. Food of the Gods.

And I love that you used the word, "Favoritest".

Happy Bowl Hunting!

Snowflake Chaser said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Snowflake Chaser said...

Sometimes I even give in and just eat a big delicious bowl of cereal for dinner. But only when no one's looking. And when no one knows. So you didn't read this.

Reya Mellicker said...

I believe everything is a sign, everything can be interpreted symbolically. But if you try to delve deeply into the omens of everything, you never get your laundry done. So for me it's all about being able to distinguish what merits attention.

This merits attention. Something that used to feed you no longer can. Something that looks like a mug but really it's a bowl has broken, something masquerading as one thing but functioning as another is no longer available to you.

I think it's a good sign. You can get another bowl or mug, of course. How did you drop it? What were you thinking about when that happened?

always write said...

When I dropped it I was thinking about "coooooooffffeeeeeee.....(groan)."

That's an interesting interpretation, Reya, and totally relelvant to something going on in my life right now. You give the gift of clarity -- thank you!

Washington Cube said...

I agree with Reya. That bowl breaking portends things to come. Cereal as Oracle. I like it.

Shafa said...

That's funny... Last night, I broke my favorite coffee mug while cleaning the dishes... I broke off the handle with my bare hands... And sliced my finger... *cue twilight zone music*

Gordon said...

I'm of course with you on the cereal front as my love for cereal runs deep, but as for the mug...sometimes things just break. They just do. Period.

Merujo said...

Wearing slippers in the kitchen = A Good Thing. I once broke a cheap IKEA glass in the kitchen. It shattered and I found myself barefoot and surrounded by splinters and shards and much unhappiness. RIP to your faithful mug.

I used to eat hot buckwheat kasha for breakfast when I lived in Russia. A cup of coffee and hearty kasha with a little Sweet'n'Low and a tiny bit of butter. High in fiber, oh so tasty, and perfect on a cold Moscow morning.

Damn. Now I have a kasha craving...

Eric the Something said...

Maybe the hidden meaning to dropping your mug is, "D, you are not meant to run off to the circus to juggle."

And, as for my views on cereal, let me just say that I live in a city that has THIS!! Life is good!