According to Hofmann: I’ve been mugged
As with most people, my morning ritual involves a cup of coffee or two or three, maybe five if it鈥檚 a workday or a caffeine IV drip into my arm if it鈥檚 a Monday.
Either way, you need a coffee vessel and the most common one is a mug. Yes, those small and simple ceramic bowls with an attached handle have brought joy to millions of people and devastation to thousands annually, but the mug is rarely given a second thought.
However, I recently started to really think about mugs 鈥� mainly because I鈥檓 constantly surrounded by them.
Back in my bachelor days, my kitchen cabinet consisted of four mugs in case a few broke or if I had morning company, but more likely because I was too lazy to do dishes five days straight 鈥� on that fifth day, I normally drank directly from the coffee pot.
There was nothing too special about my mugs in those days; I think most of them were purchased from the second-hand thrift store, which meant it belonged to someone who had died 鈥� his name was Frank, and he or someone he knows once visited Arkansas, so says the mug.
Anyway, when I got married, the mugs belonging to my wife and stepdaughter joined my mugs.
Of course, I find it odd that my wife doesn鈥檛 drink coffee, but she and my stepdaughter drink stuff like orange juice out of a coffee mug, which, to me, is like drinking chocolate milk out of a champagne flute, but whatever floats their boat.
So, my mug count climbed to about seven or eight, and I believed that would be the limit of the mug collection.
However, as the years of married life stretched by like the tortuous moans of a prisoner begging to die, I started to notice the family mug collection grow and grow. Soon, there were 10 mugs, then 14, then 19. It was like a Tribble invasion on 鈥淪tar Trek鈥�.
Oddly enough, my coffee consumption went down over the years. The teetering avalanche of mugs that threatened to fall on me whenever I opened the cabinet caused enough adrenaline to surge through my system to keep me awake and alert for the first hour of the morning.
Besides the growing number of coffee mugs, another thing I noticed are the mugs with sayings on them 鈥� many of which were presents from my wife and stepdaughter 鈥� sayings that made me wonder if they鈥檙e sending me a not-so-subtle message.
As I write this sentence, I鈥檓 looking at a mug that declares I鈥檓 the 鈥淲orld鈥檚 Greatest Dad.鈥� No argument there, but above that phrase, it reads, 鈥淥cean City, Maryland.鈥�
That always confused me. Am I the world鈥檚 greatest dad when I鈥檓 in Ocean City or am I the world鈥檚 greatest dad, but only by Ocean City standards?
Another mug they purchased for me reads, 鈥淲orld鈥檚 Greatest Farter 鈥� I Mean, Father.鈥�
At that point, I鈥檓 starting to wonder if they鈥檙e just pulling my chain about being a great father; also, now my abilities as a parent and my flatulence are known worldwide and not just in Ocean City.
Anyway, other statements on mugs are very bold and universally true, like the mug I received from Christmas that reads, 鈥淐offee makes me poop鈥� and, of course, the mug is very large and distinctly colored brown.
I mean, it鈥檚 bad enough that I started thinking about these mugs and their meanings, but now I have to consider (and then reconsider) which mug I pick for the morning because of the popularity of Zoom work meetings.
There鈥檚 nothing like a staff meeting where the biggest revelation is my coffee and bathroom habits; actually, the staff normally finds out about that stuff from me at some point, but it鈥檚 different when it鈥檚 advertised on the fine china.
I honestly don鈥檛 know what to do with the mug situation because I鈥檓 becoming more of a pack rat at my old age, which is the polite way of saying that I鈥檓 becoming a hoarding geezer. I can鈥檛 鈥渁ccidentally鈥� break the things because that would activate some fight-or-flight response with my wife 鈥� well, more of a cry-or-buy response. Soon, though, the mugs will completely overtake the kitchen cabinet and, if I do nothing, the mugs will naturally evolve to the point where they鈥檒l display my latest colonoscopy results.
I hate to say it, but the only logical thing to do is to get a divorce 鈥� well, not a divorce because I鈥檒l somehow end up with all the mugs in the custody agreement.
Perhaps I should just abandon the family all together. I know that sounds like a horrible thing to do, but at least I鈥檒l still be considered a great dad by Ocean City standards.
According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. His books, 鈥淕ood Mourning! A Guide to Biting the Big One鈥nd Dying, Too鈥� and 鈥淪tupid Brain,鈥� are available on Amazon.com. He co-hosts the 鈥淟ocally Yours鈥� radio show on WMBS 590 AM every Friday.