I hate drinking out of a paper cup, booze just tastes wrong, they only last a few minutes before the paper saturates with vodka and then it leaks. There is a distinct paper taste as well.
Traveling, I usually stay in hotels that have glass cups, I’m snotty yes, but there’s not many options in rural Scottsboro.
Most of the bargain hotels used to have plastic, which is better, but now many have gone to Eco-friendly paper cups. I’m going to have to start traveling with my glass tumbler.
Both my parents worked and since we lived with my grandparents, she took care of us, by that mean she sent us outside to play as soon as we finished breakfast. In the summer we would get a paper cup when we came home for lunch. There is was, next to our baloney sandwich, our cup. Name in blocky letters written with a grease pencil. That was our cup for the day. If we lost or smashed our cup then it was hose water for the rest of the afternoon. If you kept it then you could come to the back door and request sweet tea or cool aide. No cup, no sugary elixir.
In our sweaty hands the cups were like fine china, delicate and easily compromised, one leak and it was no good, if you nibbled the rolled rim to taste the wax, then you risked the danger of the cup separating at the seam, since if was just paper the failure was inevitable, but with care it could last until dinner when you got to sit down with a real glass filled with room temperature milk.
Sipping my third drink, in my second cup, the first long gone, I recalled that long lost memory…the smell of summer in my mind.
©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013, written entirely on my iPhone.