A Tale of Two Mugs

When Adam and I first got married we were living in Dayton, Texas. We were an hour away from anyone I knew and it didn't really matter because I didn't have a car and my primary job was to take care of my father-in-law, who was in hospice care at the time. I'd entered into the marriage thinking it was a six month deal, a year - tops, and that Adam and I were just friends. We'd dated for a while, but it hadn't worked out and I didn't see the marriage turning into the Love of my Life. I was pretty upfront about where my head was at with Adam, but, sneaky little bastard, wasn't as forthcoming. He has always been a "cards close to the vest" kind of guy and he was especially tight-lipped in the beginning. He was my roommate and my friend and he'd been dealt a huge blow and I couldn't leave him to handle it on his own. So I agreed to marry him, to be his helpmate, until his dad died.

We were stumbling through the first few weeks of having our entire lives changed and trying to figure out how to make a marriage work when we couldn't even make dating work. He was having to get up at three in the morning to drive an hour to get to work, then work all day to drive an hour back. It was dark when he left and dark when he got home. My daylight hours were all hiding and waiting on Wayne and trying not to be miserable. I did a lot of writing. And crying.

One thing that hasn't changed is that, even then, Adam has viewed going to the store together as viable couples time. We went to pick up groceries and I was telling him how weird it was that we were living with his dad and our bed wasn't even our own. Nothing in the trailer was ours, except our clothes, and we were having to live out of suitcases at the time. I remember throwing up my arms and wailing, "I don't even have a fucking cup to call my own!"

Adam stopped, turned in the aisle and picked up this ugly coffee mug. It was green and yellow gingham, with a pear over the pattern. It was so far from my taste that, to this day, it's still laughable, but he looked so excited; like he found to way to make everything better. So, I swallowed the rest of my complaints for the day and started to use my mug.

I would use the mug every morning, washing it and putting it away after every pot of coffee. I would take it outside and sit under the trees and watch the birds. It was my little bit of peace. I was so scared and unhappy, constantly waiting and wishing that the marriage was over in those early days.

Over the years this silly mug has become, what Adam calls, My Most Valuable Possession. It's cracked and chipped and so well loved. I don't let anyone use it. It's mine and I'm selfish about it. I've used this silly mug as a crutch; a reminder that things have been worse and that, even when we're butting heads, Adam cares about me.

I've probably given the mug more magical powers than it really has, having built a relationship with an inanimate object based on my own imagination. I've projected what I've needed into a coffee mug and it's never failed me.

A few weeks ago Adam was watching me sip coffee from my cup, my hands were idly caressing the sides and my thumb was making circles. He teased me about "My Precious" and we laughed. I pouted, showing him where it was wearing and soon to break. I joked that if the mug broke that would be my sign that the marriage was over. (Because we do that sort of thing. We think we're funny.)

I didn't think anything of it until a few days later when Adam mentioned that he'd ordered a New Precious for me. "Can't risk the cornerstone of our marriage falling apart."

It was so sweet, but I couldn't tell him how completely scared I was that I wouldn't like this new mug. He was super cute, telling me that he ordered me a Nerd Mug. (He went with a Doctor Who Mug so that I can be my own Time Lord. Ah, nerd love.) There was a hold up with shipping and the package took longer than it should've to arrive. I was walking out to check them mail every day, twice a day, only to have to wakl back crushed and broken. Empty handed.

The day my new Who mug FINALLY arrived, I was miserable. I'd started Shark Week seven days early and I'd walked up to the store to get milk and tampons. My card was rejected. Apparently we'd overdrawn the account. Awesome. So, I had walked home and moped, barely able to focus on Nora. I knew that we were getting paid the next day, but I just couldn't stop being sad. It was embarrassing and I frequent that store rather often, picking up last minute things for dinner. I'm dreading going back.

Anyway, so I'm having a HORRIBLE DAY and sad and Adam comes home and offers to walk out to the mailbox to check for my mug. I told him I just couldn't handle anymore disappointment that day and hadn't gone.

He arrived back, Nora in tow, and he was so sweet - he handed Nora the box and sent her into the kitchen where I was cooking to give it to me. Suddenly this mug that I was so scared wouldn't be good enough, wouldn't be able to take the place of My Precious, had a magnificent story. A beautiful origin story wherein this inanimate object rides to my emotional rescue, just like the mug before it had soothed my ruffled spirit. Perfection.

I've exclusively been drinking from this mug. It's smaller, fitting into my hand like a friend, and I'm falling for it's Whovian picture and dark red ink like foolish teenager. It's maroon, like the carpets and lace curtains of his Dad's trailer, but it's strong and comforting like my husband. I can see a long future of warm beverages and soft smiles.