Today’s item is hard to stop wishing for. But I have enough glasses already.
For well over a decade, I have had one lightweight red plastic eight-ounce tumbler that cost fifty cents. But that’s enough, because my place is too small for socializing. The plastic also has the advantage of not breaking when I knock it into the sink, which happens often, because I keep it on the edge of my sink, which is where I do almost all my hydration at home. I don’t know whether I am being practical or pathetic with this half-dollar vessel, or both.
Sometimes I look at it with mild distaste. Unlike sterling, plastic does not look finer and more luxurious with a patina of micro-scratches from sustained daily use. My old tumbler has the exhausted dullness of a plastic pet food bowl that has been slobbered on by several generations of furry diners.
In contrast, here are beautiful handmade drinking utensils. Look at the subtly shaded turquoise glaze! Note the fascinating peacock feather pattern where a piece of blue glass was allowed to melt down the side during firing! Admire the well-shaped lip, not too thick. Beverages probably taste superior in these superior cups.
Naturally, they would be fine for a pint of your favorite dilution of Mio or Dasani Drops (my favorite beverages), or for displaying some flowers, but they are intended for beer. These are broad-diameter pilsner glasses. You can put one in the freezer safely (I asked) and enjoy a really “cold one.”
I have beer less than once a year – I mourn the departure of Lowenbrau Dark and have never had the heart to look for a substitute. (If you know of one, tell me.) And as I mentioned earlier, I live in a dry building. And I have enough vases (two). I also have two never-used mugs that I ought to give away, hidden somewhere in the clutter that crowds my room and adding to it. So no, I certainly don’t need these bonny blue pint glasses.
But the acquiring octopus within me wants to have and to hold one of them, to turn it in my hands and admire how the light shines on it, and how it feels in my hand and against my lips. The tentacles of my acquisitiveness seek to palpate the surface of the ocean-blue pottery ever so slowly. You could afford it, the octopus whispers coyly.
Maybe buy one to just look at it for a few minutes before wrapping it up to give? But I don’t know anybody who would enjoy this as a gift. I already got a handmade pilsner glass for the one person I know who drinks beer, and I suspect he is fastidious enough in his self-regard that he would raise a disapproving eyebrow if I gave him another beer glass.
So I shall force my acquisitive octopus to be satisfied with the little red cup that bounces off the bottom of my sink. I urge you in my stead to buy one or a set of these blue vessels that highly deserve to be owned. I am not in a position to own them, but I am sure they are worthy of you.
Let me know if they make beer taste as good as I suspect they do.
(This listing is mortal, so here is a link to the creators’ shop.)