I have a favourite mug; I drink tea and stuff out from out of it. Mrs. BP's useless brother visits from time to time - especially when he's got word that I've been visiting Longuedoc-Roussillon to replenish my cellar. The thing that gets me is this - the cur insists upon using my favourite mug. Oft times I repair to the kitchen to prepare a beverage only to find that my favourite mug has been usurped in is residing in his claw, filled no doubt with nauseating instant coffee and probably with a drop of my whiskey added.
A while back Mrs. BP ventured into a local shop which sells all kinds of tea and coffee. It's a rather special place run by a laid-back and groovy Lithuanian. Every now and then I get coffee for my espresso machine there. Anyway on this particular occassion Mrs. BP bought us both two nice new mugs - fancy porcelain affairs embazoned with colourful elphehenants. My new acquisition became my favourite mug of choice and I keep it with the others on a mug tree in the kitchen.
Mrs. BP's useless brother has now adopted this one as his favourite mug. He can have had no idea that I'd stopped using the other one but he still insists upon grabbing it whenever he wants a cup of tea or coffee. With my bloody whiskey in. Why is this? Why does the scrounger do this? I've been thinking strongly of leaving a large chamber pot hanging in the kitchen and intimating to him that it is my new favourite drinking vessel. It would be quite a laugh if I could get a few pictures of him drinking out of from out of it.