Fumblefingers

Yesterday morning the worst thing happened. While I was making breakfast (meaning I was pouring milk over some off-brand Cheerios), I broke my favorite drinking glass. It was a nice, big pint glass with Captain America's face on it that I certainly loved more than a person should a piece of drinkware. I had stupidly placed it on the edge of my counter, and in my sleepy morning haze, just bumped it right off onto my hardwood floor.

It was one of those totally preventable slow-motion falls, the kind when you're watching something tip over and all your brain can think is "Awwwww maannnn ... " and do absolutely nothing to prevent the calamity at hand. The glass didn't shatter or anything, just thunked on the ground and split right up the middle.

I was surprised by how much breaking my favorite glass upset me. For most of my life, I've tried to limit how much I care about "possessions," but despite all my contrarian heel-dragging and misplaced anti-establishmentism, I somehow developed real affection for this glass. It was just so perfect. It had a great weight and thickness, sturdy but not too heavy, and was big enough that I could fit two servings of any drink into it, which I've found is the perfect ratio for nearly any thirst-quenching purpose (i.e., I did not have to refill my glass at dinner, it held plenty of water for a session of writing at home, etc.). Plus, it had the most wonderful imprint.

The glass was a promo item from a NYC Comic-Con a few years back, I think for some kind of super-hero voting competition that Marvel was running. The imprint on the glass was a big, smug drawing of Captain America's face that looked like it had been done by Neal Adams, one of the most iconic comic illustrators ever. Captain America's headshot was framed by a "Vote for Captain America" text circle, which outside the comic-con contest, gave the glass the perfect touch of silliness and absurdity. The imprint itself was very high-quality, big and bright without a single imperfection.