Mugs

I’ve got too many mugs. There are mugs with cute stuff. There are mugs with curse words. There are mugs with book quotes, TV show references, and Harry Potter. They take up two shelves in an already overcrowded kitchen. More than that, actually. There are mugs so big they need their own space, separate from the other normal-sized mugs. The same goes for travel mugs, which I’m not really counting but there are still probably too many of them too. Some of them are mine, some of them are not.

Every few months I resolve to reduce the number of mugs in the cupboard. We take them all out, put them on the table, and decide which ones we can live without. Mind you, only two people live in this house. So the need for constant mugs isn’t in play. We’re not a cafe. With each culling, the numbers are trimmed by two or three mugs and the kitchen can breathe a little again.

And then, somehow, the mugs multiply once more. They’re like rabbits. So we cull. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Sentimentality is a hard thing to understand. Why do we keep the things we do? Is the connection to some ethereal emotional past necessary? Probably. We don’t do things without a reason, even if it’s convoluted or nonsensical. The mugs live on because they allow us a reminder that people care.

Most of them are gifts. Symbols from friends that they know us, understand us and were able to find a physical embodiment of that closeness and shared experience. That’s what makes it so hard to get rid of them. It feels like we’re throwing away a piece of that friendship. That’s ridiculous but hey, I don’t make the rules of attachment.

The mugs also serve as a kind of time machine. We can go back into our past selves and see what our loved ones would have thought of us then, as compared to now. The idea that five years ago anyone would have given me a Minnesota United FC mug would have been insane. I was staunchly anti-soccer at the time. In some ways, they are fossils preserved in our cabinet from a different lifetime. Dig them up and see if the dinosaurs have feathers.

I am guilty of contributing to the collection. I’ve given many of them as presents and purchased some on my own. In those cases, the mugs have a special “double” protection since we both have a vested emotional stake in them. They continue to survive.

There’s also a pecking order within them. I prefer to use some while others see their use by others. Some linger in there, lurking amongst the darkened back. COVID has been especially rough on them as we’ve not had large groups of people over in a while. I like the big ones since I drink a lot of tea.

I am privileged to have such a burden of mugs in my life. I mean this in all sincerity: there are people who do not have mugs with funny lines or cartoon animals. The mugs they use came with the dish set. And listen, I’m not one to judge what other people put hot drinks in. If you like the mugs you use, I’m happy for you. You’ve made a choice. I’m talking about the people who don’t have that. The people who are lonely or have superficial friendships that never delve into true understanding. Kitsch is an important thing to share with friends.

I know that someday there will come a breaking point and another cull happens. As I’ve moved on in life and grown as a person, the things I once thought amusing are now… different. Not good or bad. They just don’t speak to me anymore. Off to Goodwill with you.

Do you have a favorite? Click on one of the social links below and show off your collection of mugs. I’d love to see them!