It's a Mug thing.

About a year ago I was having lunch with my Aunt and my Mom when the subject of "favorite" mugs came up. I understand that everyone has favorite things. Julie Andrews sang a song about it in Sound of Music. I just didn't realize that it included the realm of coffee mugs. My Mom and Aunt went on about how they were perturbed if someone took their mug out of the cupboard, family member or house guest, and used it. Not that they would say anything to the one who stole their mug. They would just stew about it, and let it grate under their skin, and then breath a sigh of relief when they were finished with it. I was thinking "are you kidding me? "
My mom has a favorite mug, a pottery one, that fits perfect in her hand and holds just the right amount of coffee, because she only has one cup per day. In fact she's pretty particular about her coffee as well. She has an Actual saying on the kitchen wall that reads "hand over the coffee and no one gets hurt."
Once when I was visiting I put a little Cinnamon in the coffee grounds when I was asked to make it, just for something different. That went over like a lead balloon.When my Mom tried it , her immediate reaction was "What did you do to the coffee? " My Dad informed me that you don't mess with the coffee. Ever.
So at that I had learned two valuable lessons, which shall ever keep me safe and alive while visiting my parents: Don't mess with the coffee, and by all things sacred, and holy, Do not under any circumstance touch the favorite mug.
So while out at the ranch last weekend, I came down for breakfast and went to pour myself a cup of coffee. I said to my mom," Where's your mug?"
Just to cover myself from grabbing the wrong one, and she said, "Here, you are." she had handed me an identical pottery mug. "I really like this one, she continued, "that's why I have 3 of the same." I began teasing her about her favorite mug.
But then I had to confess something. "I have a favorite mug too." I said.
This mug, my Mom bought me when I finally had my own apartment and we had been out shopping together. It was on a sale rack, the store was closing out and was discounting most of their stuff. I use it all the time, because it reminds me of that day, 10 years ago. I love the way it fits in my hand. It holds just the right amount of coffee, or other hot liquid, and probably most importantly, It gives me a gauge as to how much milk to sir in to make the coffee the way I like it. It's the first mug I grab, no matter its location in the cupboard. Its the mug Carpenter brings me coffee in bed.It's my mug.
But I didn't realize how important this mug was to me until one day when a guest was in my house and used it. I couldn't believe how perturbed I was. My mug was being used, and it wasn't by me. It was like an itch I couldn't scratch. I could handle it okay if it was broken by me, but certainly not someone else. But I would never say anything to a guest in my home. I would never, ever, make my guest feel uncomfortable by any means. I would sacrifice my mug before that happened.
As my Mom listened, a knowing smile spread across her face. She handed me the egg flipper and told me to watch the pancakes. She disappeared and when she came back she held a box in her hand and gave it to me.
Inside was another mug that matched my mug. She had bought two that day.
"I meant to give this to you when you moved into your house," she said,"Now you have two."
I was surprised, shocked and delighted. I couldn't believe it. She had bought another mug and had kept it all this time.
And, then it hit me like a ton of bricks: When it comes to coffee and mugs,
I'm like my Mom?????