i know why the caged bird gives people a peck in the bawls

Sitting in an armchair.
A freshly brewed cup of tea beside me.
All is right with the world.
Presently I turn and accidentally knock the cup to the floor.
The road diverges.
I can see an option for self loathing fury.
And I can see an option for a wry smile, a soft chuckle, a gentle reminder to myself that I am one of those absent minded genius types who knock things over all the time, that this is me and I'm happy with who I am.
I choose the second option.
Ignoring the cup on the floor, and with that faint preraphaelite smile still playing on my handsome features, I go out to the kitchen and make a second cup which I place on the armrest of the armchair.
The sheepdog ambles in and licks up the spilt tea.
I clean up the rest and remove the first cup.
I return to my armchair and sit.
Then I knock over the second cup.
"This is starting to get a bit fucken Irish," I murmur dangerously.