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When a cup is a mug

For goodness sake! She?s picked the black mug again.
I wish she wouldn?t do that.
You?d think that I wasn?t to her liking, the way she does that.
I can assure you that I am a very elegant looking cup,
tall and slim in pristine white china,
with a pretty English garden scene on the side
and tiny blue flowers on my neat little handle with its gold trim.
Anyone can see that I?m a cup with class.
If I just wiggle, sorry, I mean slide over a little bit on the shelf,
then perhaps she?ll choose me for her morning coffee.
There are quite a few cups around me on the shelf.
There?s the white one with the chip,
she uses it to measure the flour whilst cooking,
and the pink one with the spout the baby has for her milk.
Then there?s the fine china one with the gold band around the top,
roses on the side and pink inside,
and the two blue ones with cornflowers.
Last Christmas, someone gave her two ugly purple mugs
with gold hearts on them.
They are so vulgar, if you ask me.
I am sure that if I move just a little bit she will see me here waiting.
I?ll just nudge over into the space left by the black mug and
? Oops!

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