Used to be a person used his own damn sleeve. To wipe a nose, rub schmutz off some kid’s cheek, handle something too hot to.
As for the paper cup, it didn’t need its own sleeve. Still doesn’t. If cups could scoff, they’d scoff at the sleeve. Heck, they’d snort.
If cups needed sleeves it’d mean they had arms. The arms’ hands. The hands’ fingers. If cups had fingers, you can bet they’d give the sleeve one.
Used to be Cityfolk were tough, looked after themselves.
Cityfolk drank scalding deli urn brew direct from the cup.
Didn’t tiptoe from the café, their pinky raised tea fingers chafing at the heat of a Joe-to-go.
People, what happened?
Is the iphone to blame? The Blackberry? Have the fingertips gone all delicate, evolving inefficiently for practical purposes?
Maybe its one too many skinny lattes? Fingers are malnourished. Size 0s. Vestigial for chrissakes.
Well, whatever it is, get over it.
Ban the sleeve. Leave it on the counter.
Allow the cup a little dignity.
Return it to the way nature intended: bare naked beautiful.
As for your thin-skinned fingers?
Use your own damn sleeve.
Kiki bares all.