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I’d drink to that if I could find a cup

Submitted by on Friday, 19 June 2009 No Comment

glassesI had a chilling moment this week when I realized that, while I haven’t exactly turned into my mother, I have adopted one of her pet peeves.

The discovery came as I was washing dishes. Big Guy came into the kitchen and asked for a drink. “You know where the cups are. Help yourself,” I said.

“Mommy, there are no cups.”

No cups? Impossible, I thought.  There were only a half dozen or so in the sink and the dishwasher. Where the heck were the rest?

Then I remembered and launched into my inaugural drinkware diatribe.

“Try checking Boots’ bedroom. Or my bedroom. Or the livingroom. Or any of the million places you two dump cups instead of bringing them back to the kitchen,” I raved, gathering speed as I went.

It actually worked: Big Guy scurried off and returned with another dozen cups.

Just like we did when we were kids. Or, more accurately, just like the male members of the family did when we were kids. Is it a gender issue?

My brother was notorious for late-night snacks of cereal and milk in a tumbler. He’d then roll the Tupperware under his bed, and one of the womenfolk would retrieve it weeks later when the stench gave it away.

Dad was famous for carrying half the coffee cups in the house out to his “shop” – now more correctly known as a man cave, because there was probably more baloney produced than work accomplished there.

He’d “forget” the cups until Mom ranted.Then he’d scurry out to the cave, returning with a dozen or so mugs and a properly contrite expression.

I don’t understand it. I form emotional attachments to drinkwear, using the same one for days and washing it only when it’s obvious I have to. It takes a while for the proper coffee buildup to accumulate, and that’s a key factor in taste.

The guys, I can’t convince to use the same cup two times in a row, even if it’s been only five minutes since their last drink. I remember Mom’s Dixie cup dispenser and am tempted to switch, except I can’t stand to throw away that much paper every day.

So instead, I horde plastic restaurant cups to supplement inventory at home. That stretches the supply out a day or so.

It’s still not going to be enough to stop the drinkware diatribes, though. Maybe my dad can teach the guys how to master contrite scurrying.

Copyright 2009 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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