Shut Cup
A little tale and a rant while marinating with your morning caffeine, or evening bourbon.
One of my dearest friends who is more like a sister, ordered me a gift online this past Christmas or maybe it was my birthday? Now I can’t be sure, I think it arrived late regardless of the occasion, no matter. Unaware it was coming my way so the fact it took longer than expected was lost on me.
This thoughtful gift is the most perfectly sized ceramic coffee cup for my morning coffee and afternoon espressos.
Fired onto the inside bottom of the cup is one word, so whether you are filling your cup, or finishing it, there it is lovingly staring up at you.
Shut
That’s right. My sweet friend decided this coffee cup would go perfectly with my thunder cunt tea cup. She knows me so well. However, when she ordered it there was a typo, and the intended word was the wrong one. What was supposed to say slut, instead said shut.
Of course, we’ve had some laughs about this literary error. But I adore my shut cup, it is loved and used well.
It seems when there is a circumstance where both of us are involved, there never fails to be some preposterous situation that leaves us scratching our heads or laughing hysterically. Some anomaly that could only present itself when both of us are involved.
It’s a true mystery.
Weekly Rant
We are renovating and building a basement suite for a rental. I have since discovered that drywall dust causes my nasal passages to dry up and bleed. Nights are filled with desert dry open mouth breathing, sexy I know- fitful air-deprived sleeps. Breathing through my nose is painful.
Every morning is a disgusting ritual of clearing and rehydrating my nasal passages.
The other weekend I had to sand the ceiling in our entry that we had recovered in shiplap. Our carpenter had mudded the nail holes and seams in preparation for paint. Days later, our painter informed us that it was not up to his liking and refused to sand it.
Wait what?
Now I’ve mudded and sanded many times, and there was nothing wrong with the carpenters mud job.
I should add that to mud and sand these things were in his job description, but also one of the things we were paying him for.
So I geared up, loaded the electric sander with the proper grit of sandpaper. Hair covered in a shower cap, safety glasses, and a dust mask, I sanded and sanded and sanded.
I cursed this said painter's name many times that day, for deciding we/I (my husband works away) were responsible for sanding.
Why did I not stand my ground and make this guy do the job he was hired to do? I’m not entirely sure why he was given the authority to dictate what he decided was no longer required of him.
I think the fact my husband had personally been dealing with the hiring and delegating of the tradesman involved with this reno, left me feeling like a bystander swooping in and demanding things I had no place in demanding.
But I did, and we do. Because we hired him to do a job damn it.
I know we’ve all heard the stories involving nightmare renovation scenarios and/or incompetent tradespeople. I have to say so far we’ve been lucky with who we’ve hired and how things have gone as a whole.
But this guy deserves a kick in the ass, maybe a throat punch for good measure, for his whiny and condescending behaviour. His only saving grace at this point is that his paint job was pretty well done, minus my sanding issue.
So my friends, beware of the lame assholes who feel their time and energy is more precious than yours. Who feel vindicated in changing the rules to suit their needs for the day.
With raised eyebrow, and ice swirling in my bourbon I’m still processing my disdain for painter guy.
Also~
Reads
Oldster Magazine and its latest questionnaire - This is 61with story teller Ed Gavagan.
Ed’s passion for life, empathy and resilience towards his attackers and the hand the universe dealt him are incredibly inspiring, and humbling. Courage with grace. I find it hard to write the appropriate words on all my feelings, but please have a read and experience Ed’s take on his life happenings for yourself.
As always, thanks for being here
Till next time
xo
tD
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Hi there, I’m Tam Dayle, born and raised on the Canadian prairies.
I am a photographer writer and storyteller. Mishaps and Milestones is 100% reader-supported. If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for joining me while I write about all the sweet, and not-so-sweet, chaotic and quiet, happenstances this life throws my way.
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Warm coffee cheers