Thursday, January 28, 2010

Unfortunate Positioning

I suppose it seems like I've been sitting on my glass for 6 straight days doing absolutely nothing... but it's not true. I got knocked off the bedside table on Tuesday-- which is quite a scare.

Thank God for carpet.

I always like being the one who makes it to the bedside table, but it's a little risky. You'd think it's because of all the excess books hanging-out up there, but no, the real Fear Factor lies in that alarm clock.

On Monday night, I was lucky to participate in the dinner hour and since the dishwasher was full (sorry Edna, James and Sippie) I got a quick hand-wash--post pots 'n pans. I can't help but be jealous of those guys. They never get the dishwasher. Sure they complain about the heat, but I think it would be worth it... to always have that one-on-one attention.

Anyway, I aired out on the make-shift drying rack for a while. (See what I mean, the people don't even have the decency to own a drying rack. That's how infrequent the hand-washes are. Instead I get placed on top of a trivet, bottoms-up against the skillet. Precarious.)

But, since I was sitting out already, I got to be the glass of choice for the late-night-water-sip. It seemed like everything was going to be great, because when the book was over, I was placed in the center of the table. Very safe. But, a small person came into the room when it was pitch-dark and suddenly people were very thirsty... so thirsty that I was taken back to the kitchen for a re-fill.

Then I was placed in front the alarm clock. Not good. I could see where this was going before it happened. Arms do funny things in the morning, and this particular arm waged war on the alarm clock before I could make my presence known.

So, down I went. It was a soft landing, but the poor carpet-- he was soaked through to the floorboards. People should be more careful, you know? I still have a bit of a side-cramp, but at least nothing's broken.


  1. My mother was a tumbler and my poppy was a highball hooked on the naughty splashes of heaven that were poured from his innards. My childhood was tumultuous to say the least. I guess I'm looking at things half glassed, things could be worse. At least I'm not some high falutin goblet wearing those gosh-forsaken wine charms...I shudder at that thought.

  2. Wow. You don't say... or did you? Either way, I kind-of hope that I don't ever meet your Poppy. (Or his innards, since we're on the subject.)

    Thank you for raising awareness in the fight against wine charms.

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