I don’t know about you, but I’m like an erupting volcano hurling hot, boiling lava waves of exhausted rage at anyone who gets in my way before my morning cup of coffee.

Am I right?

And nothing makes that cup more pleasant than sipping it from an adorable mug, preferably one for which I wildly overpaid at a store whose obscenely high prices are based solely on the name of the street upon which they’ve taken up shop. Here are some favorites: