in My Cups

Quite often the glass is neither half full nor half empty, but merely inadequate. For instance, this morning I am predicting a kind of champagne day, yet find myself equipped with nought but a chipped, plastic tumbler with Denny's Ribs N Burgers printed on the exterior in beige lettering. Suffice it to say, walking around with a decent serving of top-shelf mental bubbly in such a wretched example of metaphorical barware does little to enhance one's mood of amiable optimism. And my experience of yesterday could also be described as "half full," but I was only given an medium-sized styrofoam coffee cup to contain its contents, which were, indeed, hot. Unfortunately, I think somebody had previously used this unwieldy drinking vessel, since there was a large fracture in the base and much of the half fullness of my disposition was slowly dripping out, making me feel somewhat half empty by the evening commute. Tomorrow is Friday, so I'd better be handed something colorful and ornate, like a goblet of glass blown by artisans in Murano, with a gilded stem.