Living Dangerously

“You don’t have to listen to her, kid. Don’t put me in the middle of the table. I'm the type of glass that likes living dangerously. That’s it; right there on the edge. Thatta boy. After all, you're my one shot at excitement.

"Sure, the dishwasher ain’t bad. But I’m always on the top shelf. Everyone knows all the action is on the bottom. But, nooooooooooooo – I might break. You only live once, right? Hey kid, you listening?

"That’s my man, come get another drink. Here we go, right there on the corner of the table; you can do it. I’d really like some wobble action. Yesssssssssssssss! Did you see me teeter totter? Tony Hawk, watch out!

"Seriously though, Little Man – that breath. Dude, when she says brush your teeth, she’s talkin’ all of them. My milk about soured for the two seconds I was near that putrid cave. And one more hygiene complaint. “Wash your hands” don’t mean turn on the water and hold them near the sink. It don’t work that way. You been makin’ snot pies or what? You got me so grimy I can barely see, and I don’t get out much.

"I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but it ain’t like I’m the precious coffee mug or Elmo sippy cup that gets out of the cupboard daily. Nope, I sit there day after day in the dark. My eyes don’t even have a chance to adjust to the light and say “Pick me, pick me!” before the cupboard slams closed, and I’m back in the dark.

“So we got a deal here? You, me, edge of the table – good times, little guy time? Living it up. Hey kid, watch the backpack! Whoa! Kid! Are you nutssss. . . . . ."

Moral: Maybe you should cry over spilled milk

WC - 300