Emotional aerobics in my coffee mug

There is nothing more terrifying than throwing back the last swill of my coffee and finding, to my horror, that it contains chunks. Mushy, mysterious chunks.

Then there is nothing like the relief of the realization that I put those chunks in there when I was dipping biscotti into my brew not ten minutes earlier.

And finally, there is nothing like the wave of stupidity that overcomes me when I remember that I did this last week, too.
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