There are red wine stains on my tawny-grey seat, coffee stains dark on the liner rug and now black tea all over the passenger side.
It’s always a competition, me versus my travel mug. Most days it behaves. Four out of five days it will balance placidly in the holder as I navigate around curves, take a tight turn onto the highway or come to a halt at a traffic light.
But invariably, when I am running late or when I am slightly stressed and not up for a challenge, it catches my expression, conspires within itself, and leaps out of the cup holder and into my lap, onto the carpet or seat and starts gleefully leaking my sanity all over the car.