After lunch the mug was there on the counter, near the coffee station. It was a light gray ceramic, pretty much the color of my mug. Had I left it here in the break room? When did I have it here last? Had I set it down this morning, there by the sink, intending to wash it and carry it back to my desk after using the rest room? These thoughts flickered through my head as I walked closer, reaching for the cup as I neared, then raising my hand on up to my hair as I realized that, no, this can not be my mug, it has lip stick stains around the rim and the gray is too colorless, mine is actually more beige anyway. In fact I veer awkwardly left and find the safe haven of the men's room before someone has any chance to challenge me about my covetous reach for a mug which is clearly not mine.
(Written 6/9/2005)
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