Yesterday afternoon I kind of laughed at Dan when he broke his most beloved coffee mug, the only mug he’ll use for his frequent indulgence in hot tea, despite us having nearly a dozen other perfectly functioning mugs that my brother’s Keurig brewer and Lipton’s tea bags work just fine with. He’ll dig it out of the dishwasher or from the pile of dirty dishes in the sink in order to use it, even though he’ll spend twice as much time retrieving and washing it than he would just grabbing another mug. OCT/autistic much?
Well, the Autism Mug exacted its revenge on its owners behalf on me last night: despite the mug breaking in the middle of the afternoon, the kitchen floor being swept twice, and Dan and the kids traipsing back and forth all over said kitchen floor, I had the pleasure of knowing what it feels like to have a very sharp chunk of ceramic mug wedge itself into the bottom of your foot. It hurt like crazy, I had to use a bit of effort to yank that chunk of ceramic back out of my foot, I bled all over the floor and our bedroom carpet, and now today, 16 hours later, my foot is super tender/sore/swollen. So, I’m doing my best to stay off of it, and just kind of hobbling/hopping around when I do have to move about.
Well played, Autism Mug. Your owner has been avenged.