DIRTY COFFEE CUP
Last week I devoted an entire morning to cleaning out my coffee cup. Imagine Alaska’s coast after Exxon Valdez. Imagine a Stephen King novel about a java mug. Imagine your teenager’s room covered with porcelain. Get the idea? It isn’t that I’m a slob. I simply forgot to empty the last swallow before the weekend hit and the water evaporated, leaving a resinous goop about half-an-inch think in the bottom of the cup. Some hapless moth with a caffeine addiction had fluttered down and gotten mired in the muck. There it was a perfectly preserved specimen of Lepidoptera, chief exhibit of my own miniaturized La Brea tar pit. The frightening part of this to me is that I almost drank from that cup. You see, I discovered the residue while in the act of pouring in a fresh cupful. How could I miss such a mess? Simple – the outside was clean. Had I not glanced within before drinking. I could…
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