The Mug - Part 2
This is part 2 of a serialised short story featuring Mick Smith and his wife Sandy and Mick's old tea mug that causes an argument.
Sandy kept her eye on the door. In case Mick walked in. Safe enough. He hated the binge-watching she did of Meet, Marry, Murder. She had her iPad out. Googling hard, trying to find the mug.
Mick’s mug.
She realised a while back. The solution to the problem wasn't a new mug. But a new version of the same mug. That would be the only way she could get rid of that tannin-stained nightmare he insisted on using.
She feared the mug was one of a kind. It was a simple white, ceramic mug. But it said on it the words Mick lived by, “My job is top secret, Even I don’t know what I’m doing.” She found mugs with it on. But not in the right font. Mick had often said, he loved the expression and the way it looked on the mug.
She tried all the obvious places. She tried eBay. But the damn thing was an enigma. Until she hit on an idea. She could go to one of those websites that would send you a mug based on your design.
Yes! What an idea.
She surfed along to the GiftBox website. Then uploaded a photo of Mick’s mug that she took while doing the washing up one evening. And they confirmed they could match it. She ordered it. It cost £20 but it would be worth it. Because then, she could feel fine about chucking out that bloody health hazard he wouldn’t let out of his sight.
Talking of which…
She stood and listened. Aha! He was either on the crapper or out in the shed. Quiet as she could, she crept into the kitchen. Opened the mug cupboard. Bugger. It wasn’t there. She looked again. Nope. No health hazard mug. Damn.
She went back into the living room, wondering where he’d hidden it.
—Bloody childish, she said.
Then, she thought about the real thing. What the problem boiled down to. She loved him, No problem there. But her job made her pissed off. And his job made him pissed off. Money? They never had enough.
She sighed. Easy. It all came down to life.
Simple as that.
She saw her email ping confirming the order. That made her smile. He’d be well happy with that. Like he said, he liked the simple things in life.
Next morning, Mick got up early and made the tea, as usual. His mug sat right by his side when Sandy walked into the kitchen. She scowled when she saw it.
—Morning, Mick. Health hazard on toast for breakfast?
—Bloody hell! Are you starting already?
—Can’t help it. That damn mug is doing my head in.
—It’s not the mug.
—Wha?
—It’s not the mug. I’ve done something ain’t I?
Sandy sipped her tea, in a pristine white mug.
—What makes you say that?
—Well, it ain’t like you to get so hung up about a small thing like a mug.
—You haven’t done anything. It’s the damn mug.
—Nah, don’t believe you. I’ll be worrying all day now.
—For fuck’s sake, Mick! It’s the bleedin’ mug, okay?
He said nothing. He carried on reading the paper. Sipped his tea, from the health hazard.
—Are you going to let me take the filthy bugger to work? So I can give it to Diane?
—No chance.
—I’ll take it while you’re not looking.
—What’s this, a fucking school yard?
—Look, love, I’m keeping me mug, right? Diane ain’t having it and I’m not binning it.
—Right, we’ll see. I’m going to get ready.
She stomped off up the stairs. Mick stood, rinsed his mug. Carried it out to the hallway and put it in his work backpack. It would go with him to work again. He looked around wondering what to do. Bit early to head off to work. But he didn’t want more mug wars, either.
He put his jacket and boots on, Slung his backpack on and set off to work, shouting ‘see you later!’and slamming the door behind him.
If he saw Michelle on the bus again, he’d update her on the new part of the story. See what she thought. But when the bus rolled in, no Michelle. Bollocks. He’d have to worry all day at work.
—Fuck that, pointless, he muttered.
Then, worried all day, anyway.