For his 35th birthday, I inform Boyfriend that I was going to make him a 'giant' mug. Boyfriend raises his eyebrows.
"It may or may not look like mug. If you're lucky it'll have a handle. If not, then it'll be a mug posing as a bowl."
"You can take it to work," I add.
Boyfriend looks pointedly at the pre-school-like construction of a 'bowl' sitting on the dining table. I had made it a few weeks previously in pottery class.
A week later I'm regretting my announcement. My attempts at throwing a 'giant' mug had resulted in two vases and three unrecognisable shapes. I decide that my talents may be in moulding instead. I choose a suitable mould. Half an hour later, I realise that moulding isn't my thing. But I persevere and manage to churn one out by the end of the night.
Another week passes. There is now a tiny crack at the bottom of the handle-less mug. I ignore it and wish for the best. I decide that it needs a special touch. Something that shouts 'remember me?'. I dip my hands in the jade green underglaze and wrap it around the mug, leaving two large imprints.
"That's a great idea," one of the other students tell me.
"It's a present for my boyfriend," I say. "This way he'll always have me around him." I chuckle wickedly.
Two more weeks pass and the mug is finally finished. Except now the crack has become a small hole. Undeterred I bring it home and present it to Boyfriend.
"How am I supposed to drink from it," he asks, inspecting the hole.
"You don't. It's not a mug," I inform him. "It's a plant pot."
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