Back in the old millennium, when I was still a drinking man, I had a policy. Anytime a bar charged an outrageous amount for a cocktail, I would assume that the glass was included in the price. I think my cut-off point was five dollars… that seems a perfectly reasonable price now, but it struck me as exorbitant then. I gradually accumulated a diverse collection of rock glasses and, in one memorable incident, a martini glass from the New Orleans Room at the Fairmont Hotel. That last I still feel a little guilty about – you really expect a martini to be overpriced – but it seemed, for complicated reasons, like the thing to do at the time.
Recently, Baby Dog finally graduated from sippy cups. Mama Dog bought a passel of little plastic tumblers from the Internets, but they proved to be so lightweight that they were extra prone to spilling. Gradually, we settled into a routine wherein Baby Dog gets her water in the plastic tumblers but her milk in a small, bottom-heavy glass. It was only this morning that it occurred to me that all the small, bottom-heavy glasses are in fact rock glasses I purloined from bars years ago. You probably hate as much as I do stories whose only point is “isn’t life funny?” but hey – isn’t life funny? It sure never would have occurred to me back then that I was stealing milk glasses for my daughter.
