Coffee in a ceramic mug.
Not just any ceramic mug.
A kitchen mug.
I am my father's daughter.
As I started up the engine, I couldn't help but think how I have turned into my father the past couple of years. When I was younger I hated my Dad's coffee. It tasted nasty and he always had at least 3 cups throughout the day. His habit was so habitual he would risk spilling hot juice on his pants by taking a ceramic kitchen mug in the car with him on his way to work. He would drive with one hand wrapped tight around his morning Joe and the other one causally carressing the steering wheel.
Well, this morning I was my father's daughter. I didn't have a Starbucks carry cup ( I broke my last one, single tear) so I grabbed my kitchen mug and took with me on my morning commute.
I'm proud to say that I didn't spill and drop and felt pretty good about my test today.
I guess it's genetic.
If the genes fit...
P. Manolos
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