Is That a Hair?

I traded coffee for green tea in November, yet have had perhaps 4 cups of either coffee or cappuccino since, not wanting to be militant about the decision.  This morning, it just seemed like this was a day for a cappu.

Now, I have a (sickeningly) ritualistic approach to making cappuccino, which involves all manner of accoutrements and what comes first, what's next, then what, and pretty perfect timing, in order to make it all come together and get that milk rightly steamed and pouffy.  I'm a little rusty now. 

I'd already set the machine to heat the water, when I remembered the fat cat broke the sugar bowl last week, so I scurried to the pantry for the sugar.  Then I opened the fridge door and discovered there was no milk, so I had to rush to the laundry room for milk (that's where we keep the cow) and rushing is no small feat in my old age.  The machine was gurgling by this time, so I quickly popped the cork on the cow, grabbed a mug from the cabinet with my right hand, tipped the cow with my left, then noticed a hair in the bottom of the mug.  Is that a hair?  I don't think so.  I think so.  No, it's a crack.  [machine is roaring]  POUR!  . . .  IT'S A HAIR!  I didn't want to waste any milk by pouring it into a mug with a hair in it, so I yanked the mug away and poured the milk on the floor. 

It was a crack.

Perhaps worst of all, now there's a clean spot on the floor, and I'll have to scrub the whole thing, so it'll all match.

Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world.  Philippians 2:14, 15