the greedy tiles of my kitchen floor get together with Gravity and snatch my whiskey glasses time after time-- my drunken hands are never much of an aide-- and the apartment is growing to be where goodwill glasses go to die.
at the peak of it all, there were six whiskey glasses and a good selection of eclectic coffee mugs.
i've only lost one mug. it was something to do with hot liquid and a cold mug-- an un-caffeinated mind cannot be expected to comprehend the delicacies of chemistry at 6:30 in the morning. but that was just one mug. the rest are alive and well-- they're a resilient breed.
but my whiskey glasses are a gentle bunch.
the first glass to go was particularly upsetting because it was my favorite. and because travis' favorite went moments after. in one foul swipe, allison knocked both glasses to their embarrassing deaths. they kissed those cursed kitchen-tiles only for a second before exploding into an immediate disappointing collection of unusable glass.
and the wasted whiskey spread across the floor, wondering what to do with its new freedom.
i brought a new whiskey glass home from whiskyfest shortly after.
but that glass had an even more humiliating death.
it was confiscated at the hyde out. there is nothing classy about arriving at a local bar with your own whiskey on the rocks-- especially if you try to justify it as a "road-whiskey". i never went back to grab that glass, and probably never will.
travis had also abandoned a glass that same week: a crown royal glass left with an upstairs neighbor, and never seen again.
then one glass was crushed in a collapsing pile of unwashed dishes. we lost our champagne flutes to that lazy disaster.
i'm not sure how the very last glass broke-- i came home to it, and travis' goodwill invitation-- but without explanation. when i saw it broken i was more upset to see one of the last ancestors go than i was worried about how i'd drink. it was sort of like finding out my favorite bubbler had been broken well after i'd stopped smoking weed-- something about it is still depressing.
the average life expectancy of our glasses seems to be shorter than a robot chicken episode. i've seen cocaine last longer than some of our whiskey glasses.
some would call this A SIGN-- perhaps a chaotic nudge to quit drinking whiskey entirely. but i opted to buy two new glasses from goodwill.
of course one of the two broke on the way home-- which some would call ANOTHER SIGN.
but i still have one left.
i've only lost one mug. it was something to do with hot liquid and a cold mug-- an un-caffeinated mind cannot be expected to comprehend the delicacies of chemistry at 6:30 in the morning. but that was just one mug. the rest are alive and well-- they're a resilient breed.
but my whiskey glasses are a gentle bunch.
the first glass to go was particularly upsetting because it was my favorite. and because travis' favorite went moments after. in one foul swipe, allison knocked both glasses to their embarrassing deaths. they kissed those cursed kitchen-tiles only for a second before exploding into an immediate disappointing collection of unusable glass.
and the wasted whiskey spread across the floor, wondering what to do with its new freedom.
i brought a new whiskey glass home from whiskyfest shortly after.
but that glass had an even more humiliating death.
it was confiscated at the hyde out. there is nothing classy about arriving at a local bar with your own whiskey on the rocks-- especially if you try to justify it as a "road-whiskey". i never went back to grab that glass, and probably never will.
travis had also abandoned a glass that same week: a crown royal glass left with an upstairs neighbor, and never seen again.
then one glass was crushed in a collapsing pile of unwashed dishes. we lost our champagne flutes to that lazy disaster.
i'm not sure how the very last glass broke-- i came home to it, and travis' goodwill invitation-- but without explanation. when i saw it broken i was more upset to see one of the last ancestors go than i was worried about how i'd drink. it was sort of like finding out my favorite bubbler had been broken well after i'd stopped smoking weed-- something about it is still depressing.
the average life expectancy of our glasses seems to be shorter than a robot chicken episode. i've seen cocaine last longer than some of our whiskey glasses.
some would call this A SIGN-- perhaps a chaotic nudge to quit drinking whiskey entirely. but i opted to buy two new glasses from goodwill.
of course one of the two broke on the way home-- which some would call ANOTHER SIGN.
but i still have one left.
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