I have a long and torrid history with coasters.
Yup. That’s right. Coasters–those things you put your drink on so that a ring isn’t left on the wood from the dripping condensation?
Growing up, my mom hated coasters because they were “clutter”.
But she was also ridiculously meticulous about spills and not having drinks anywhere other than at the table or counter.
When I got my own place, I bought these coasters that were square hunks of glass that I could put pictures in. They were cute.
They traveled with me to the home Cort and I bought together.
They were still cute, but they were a pain to keep clean. The dried condensation was like a magnet for dust and ick. I had to use Windex to get them clean.
And then we had Eddie. And I suddenly realized they were Weapons of Mass Destruction.
They could gouge my tables, rip my leather, dent my baby.
They were donated to Good Will.
We invested in some nice, round, cornerless, brown leather coasters.
They went into the toddler mouth. And then they looked like used dog toys.
We have been coasterless for the past year or so because we can’t find family-friendly ones that aren’t totally ugly.
And that, my friends, is why the interwebs are such a lovely place.