[DESCRIPTION: A young person with pale skin and curly red hair narrates from the perspective of a seldom-used mug stuck in the back of the cabinet. The tone throughout is one of forced optimism through barely-concealed distress.]
TRANSCRIPTION: “Oof! Blast. I get it, go for the heavy hitters. You want a cup of coffee, you go for the New York Times mug. Oh, to be in the front row... [stammers] I’m just too far back.”
[attempting to be casual and failing] “You had the Earl Grey gig last week. Hey, congrats. No, seriously, [becomes choked up] I try not to let the green-eyed monster get to me too much, but it’s still fun to compare. I mean, you were an Anthropologie birthday gift and I was just... a spur of the moment Goodwill purchase. You know, what I lack in sophistication, I make up for in absurdist charm! But that’s... not everybody’s... cup of tea...”
[forced confidence] “My claim to fame is I was in the Disastrous Mug Cake Incident of last year. God, I haven’t had that much fun since the dishwasher.”
[urgently] “Are my handles too thick? Be honest, I’m clunky.”
[despairing] “At a certain point, you miss just being held. Being pressed against someone’s lips. [nervously exclaims] Woo! Too far! But the mind wanders back here. It’s dark. It’s dark.”
[resigned] “I guess I’m just holding out for a depressive episode, ‘cause then the first two rows, they’re out of commish, they’re dirty in a room somewhere, and that’s where we step up. [appearing to gain confidence] I get to be the hero one of these days! And I’m feeling it’s soon. There’s a very sad vibe in this house. I’m gonna be--I’m gonna be used... any day now...”