I was packed off to University with a box of crockery we picked up at Argos, it soon transpired that my little matching set was identical to those of half my flat. We never knew whose mugs/plates/bowls were whose and in a student kitchen with dubious standards of hygiene it was a touch hit and miss when making a cup of tea! I think this is what kicked off my love of distinctive, pretty mugs - nobody could pinch my super clean, shiny ones now that they were so different from everyone else's. I never found carefully grown mould on top of congealed cuppa-soup again. Well, almost never.
Mugs are a personal thing; witty-banter talking point mugs, plain jane white stoneware mugs, retro charity shop offerings, mugs with cats, mugs with dogs, the gaudy patterned sort, delicate bone china granny-mugs. We all have a preference, and when you think about it your favourite mug (as long as it stays in one piece, there is always an inevitable dropping incident) is a constant companion; it weathers cold mornings, flu season, tea and sympathy, bad days and busy days as stoically as the occasional 'just because' breakfast in bed. If mugs could talk . . . . Think of all the conversations they have overheard, snippets of life they have witnessed and gossip they've gleaned from being central to cosy catchups with visiting friends and family. The likelihood is they've seen you first thing in the morning minus the miracle of a shower, a hairbrush and a coat of mascara too.
The boy frequently grumbles about our jam-packed mug cupboard - but he made a few additions of his own when we pooled our resources seven years back, in fact he owns a witty-banter talking point mug with a fart-based quote that I'm loath to make tea in for anyone besides him and my Dad. I took out my entire mug stock last week, determined to prune half a dozen or so to take to the charity shop and could have sworn I heard the cupboard creak in weary relief. There was much shuffling and muttering, a hot spa dip for them all and then half an hour chilling out on the draining board before I returned them all to their rightful home. They know too much!