I was just struck by a bolt of inspiration that allowed me to articulate so eloquently. I scribbled this down as quickly as I could, picturing it as a small segment from a story. I want you, the reader, to tell me your impression of this middle-aged, timely chap I have created. I get the impression he wears a suit and lives in the England we knew some fifty years ago.
It was a habit of his to leave mugs of water, still half full, in most every room in his household. He would sip from them frequently, almost leisurely, to ensure he did not get a sore throat. It also made him confident his body was in good shape by consuming the necessary eight glasses a day.
It was only so often that he would wash the glass rather than refill it. He didn’t like to use ordinary glasses, for his fingerprints would make the water appear dirty. No, he was much more comfortable with re-filling his mugs. Which mug he used depended on his mood- a plain but dependable mug when he felt comfortable. An embellished, intricate mug when he felt complicated. A heavy, round mug when he felt lazy.
For a time, he used bottles to preserve the purity of the water, but soon the task of removing and replacing the bottle cap became far too tedious for his likes, and he reverted to his old ways; raising the cup, sipping, and setting it down again.