tea for one, and one for tea

when it comes to finding the right mug, fit is everything. i sit at my desk (aka “cube jail”) and stop working for half a moment. my left hand wraps around this mug and slips under the handle, while the right hand holds closer to the base. fingertips touching, just fingertips- it’s too hot still for palms. every few seconds i dare the face of my hand closer and closer until it’s painful, then inch away again. warmth. wonderful warmth. elbows bent, i draw the tea up to my face and breathe. mmmmmm. coffee always smells better than it tastes, but tea? tea is rarely a letdown. two fingers play with the tag as i draw the mug closer towards me. this mug truly is a work of art, for it has a little lip that fits perfectly right above mine. i breathe out, and then skim the top so that a little sip slides right down and warms me all the way through. “what caveman genius in his cave thought of this?” i wonder to myself. whoever he might be, i’d like to shake his hand.