My One True Mug

It was meant to be a perk of the job, but my books’ blog mug has been an object of serious contention since I got it.

When I signed up, nearly a hundred blog posts ago, Boomerang Books knew how to lure me in. Not only would I have a platform to discuss my many crazed thoughts on non-fiction, reading trends and the general joy of being a bibliophile, but I would get something even better and more concrete – a free mug. A Boomerang mug, billed as large and generous.

Now, I have been disappointed before by items that were less than described. Any child who has ever got a gift from a department store Santa knows the disappointment of opening the box to discover that what you were promised was not what was delivered. (Although I’m not sure how I ever thought they would fit an Optimus Pony in a small flimsy cardboard box. Clearly you’d need something bigger, with proper handles and steel-plated to stop the transforming pony from lasering its way out.)

So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I opened the package when it finally arrived.

And, Boomerang, I am sorry I ever doubted you.

It is a wonderful mug. A paragon amongst mugs. Massive, glowing, imposing, capable of holding enough coffee to get even me going in the mornings. I can not describe the sheer volume of this thing*, but it dwarves the other cups and mugs in the cupboard, laughing at their puny capacity like Andre the Giant drinking towering over Kylie Minogue. Look at it. Can you see the halo? That could just be my sitting room light, of course, but you get the idea.

It is to a normal mug what Lord of the Rings is to fantasy – immense, imposing, definitive. Its handle is large enough so that even the most clumsy and huge of morning paws can slide gratefully in under it, ensuring that my coffee actually goes in my mouth instead of all over the floor when I drop it. It dish-washes to the sort of sparkle that Kate Middleton wants in a wedding ring.

In short, I really like it. Everyone likes it. And there is the problem. My partner has taken to stealing it. Visitors and friends beeline for it like tourists heading for the Mona Lisa when they hit the Louvre. Often when I finally make it to upright in the morning my beloved mug is  already lurking sheepishly in the sink, having been used by bloke who can – obviously enough – spot an excellent mug when he sees one. I can whimper all I want but the early bird gets not only the worm but the pick of the cupboard.

Hell hath no fury like an Irishwoman forced to drink from a clearly insufficient mug. Well, hell hath no fury eventually. When I have actually had some coffee. Fury is kind of hard to dig up when you have to use a small cup.

My mug. I love it.Want your own mug? You can order them online here. And I am going to tell everyone where to get these mugs, and keep telling them, in the hope that someday me and my own true mug will be reunited at last to enjoy each other’s company.

 

* But CafePress can – 15 oz. ceramic Large Mug. Large easy-grip handle, measures 4.5″ tall, 3.25″ diameter. Which ma be helpful but, I feel, lacks poetry.

 

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Sadhbh Warren

Sadhbh Warren is a freelance writer and proud booklover. Her name is pronounced Sive - like five – an Irish name, easier to say than spell! She lives in Sydney, writing travel and humour articles, and is always on the lookout for a great new book.