So, let me take you on the journey here. It's not too long.

I knew mugs were coming. I didn't know exactly when. Just that they're mugs.

A box arrives. I pick it up. The hollow clang of clearly shattered ceramic. Bummed.

I set the box down. I get distracted by other things. I go about my day. I go about several days. I make many cups of coffee. None are served in ugly mugs. Because my ugly mug is in the box, by the front door, smashed into oblivion.

Finally, I muster up the nerve to open the box. Full disclosure, it was trash day and I wanted to recycle the box. I had to know what the mug was, even though it was smashed.

Well, my friends, I was rewarded mightily for opening the box.

Two mugs.

The first: Donald Trump's face, reasonably anatomically correct. You drink out of the hollow part where a brain should be, so, I mean, high marks for accuracy there. You also sort of dribble on yourself as you use it because it's not quite round. It's super ugly. I was ecstatic. My very own ugly mug. And Oy, what a mug!

But wait.

There's more.

The other mug. The presumably broken one. Not broken.

Plot twist.

It says "Livin' la vida mocha." The handle is a maraca, and there's a little piece of ceramic inside that rattles around... like broken ceramic. It's hideous. Truly.

And yet, to my wife's clear disapproval, I've had coffee out of Donald Trump's head every morning, and a mocha out of the other one in the afternoon for a solid week.

I'm living la vida mocha over here. Thank you Santa. You nailed it.