The Coffee Mug

I suspect my man is cheating on me. Some would call me paranoid, but I know that it’s true. It just makes too much sense not to be, no matter how much I wish it weren’t. Starting with the physical proof; my man has not touched me in over a week! This is extremely unusual for us. Normally, we kiss every morning, but now, nothing. And speaking of mornings, he keeps leaving earlier and earlier. Before, he would leave for work at 9 a.m, but now, he leaves at 8:30.

    My bet is that he’s probably meeting some floozie that everyone’s tasted for his morning fix. Am I not good enough for him anymore? What’s so bad about me that he needs to go somewhere else to add some flavouring to his morning?    

It’s 8:45 a.m now. He’s already gone, of course. As I’m sitting there, visualizing myself giving him a red eye, I hear the door creak open.

    “Of course, today of all days, I forget my files.”

I can’t believe what I’m looking at. He has the gall to bring that into the house. Right in front of me. He doesn’t even have the shame to hide it. In his hand is confirmation of my suspicions. He is holding a green woman, in a crown with a sickening smile on her face. The siren has lured him into its trap, stealing him away from me.

    I’ve been there for him morning after morning. Late night after late night, and this is what I get. It was me who made sure he was ready for school each morning, not her. It was me who helped him cram for tests, not her. I’m replaced by a cardboard cutout with no personality to call her own.

    He places the cardboard cutout on the counter next to me. She looks over at me with the green gleer she always has on. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that she winked.

    “You’re only temporary. You’re just here for him to get his fix. But me? I’ve been with him since he was 10, and I’ll continue to be there for him. Even if I’m not getting used, I’m still here. And I always will be.”

    “You keep telling yourself sweetie.” She spoke with a posh accent. One that said I’m better than you, and I know it. “In the end, he chose to pay for something better than he could get at home. You should be happy. Now he can actually enjoy his mornings. Oh honey, you’re turning green. Are you perhaps trying to imitate me?”

    I stand, helpless on the counter. She’s right, the past doesn’t matter. It’s in the past and not the present for a reason. The disposable cup’s  man came over to the counter. For a split second, I believed he was looking at me, but he reached straight for her. I feel something hit me. It was a light tap, but it was enough. Enough to send me off of the counter where I spent my nights, and where I believed I would be spending the rest of eternity, never being used again.

    I shatter, breaking into tiny little pieces. There are parts of me all over the floor. I’d have to be glued back together. But hey, maybe that will add to my charm! Make him remember that I’m here.

    “Ah crap. Now I’m gonna be late.”

I watch helplessly as my owner reaches for the dustpan. I’m swept up as my grief sweeps over me. Time seems to move in slow motion as he walks towards the garbage instead of the counter. As he leans the dustpan down over the trash, I truly shatter. From here, I can see others just like the pompous cup sitting on the counter. And now, I am added to that pile.

    And like that, I’m replaced. There’s a different one each morning, but all of them are the same. And none of them are me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, he can get so much more from them. The only flavour I’ve ever added for him is vanilla.