A Sweet Pink Glass

My beads clicked against the tall wooden stool as I clambered up to the counter. I felt a little restless being inside all morning, but sitting high up helped. In front of me was an empty, fluted glass tumbler catching the bright morning light. I unclipped two pastel pink resin hairclips from my bag and carefully hooked them onto the glass rim. When one slipped and clattered against the smooth counter, a tiny spark of frustration flared up in my chest. I paused, took three slow breaths, and tried again until both clips rested symmetrically on the edge. Seeing the glass look so playfully dressed up made my shoulders soften.