…short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, here me shout: tip me over and pour me out.
(My version is a little edited.)
Now, I have a teacup of my very own:
But this is no ordinary teacup. It’s a special find on a special day with a certain Country Man. We pursued an antique shop, and when I came upon this little gem for $7, it spoke to me in a little Beauty and the Beast “Chip” voice, pleading “pick me!”
And I did! After a gentle wrapping, we brought it home, where it rests next to my typewriter that is collecting dust. Turns out typewriting isn’t the most efficient use of my time. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from using it now and again.
This teacup has a unique quality that I have yet to find in modern day teacups. What is this unique quality, you ask? Well, if you were a sheriff from the wild wild west era and visited me on the prairie, you’d appreciate this fine feature!
Ah yes, just what every girl needs. A mustache cup.
Which is perfect, really, because you may not know this about me, but I grow a fine mustache.
I do not have a mustache, yet, but my husband and father can grow a mighty fine looking one.
Also, my grandfather, the antiquer.
Must be in the blood?
Are you an antique shop browser, too?