I bought this teacup the other week at a massive garage sale on Castro Street. I'd been wanting a vintage teacup or two for my mantelpiece, because I am just that kind of cutesy-boho girl, and teacups are very useful for storing loose change or other random items.
There were lots of teacups at the garage sale, but I found myself drawn to this one, almost feeling sorry for it. No one would buy it unless their initials happened to be G.B.S., and what were the chances of someone with those initials showing up at the rummage sale? The poor teacup would get smashed and thrown on the rubbish heap, probably. O teacup, in your youth how proud you must have been of your gilded monogram, and now that monogram would be your downfall!
Then I realized that the monogram matched that of a writer I admire very much!
"So... there's no chance that this actually belonged to George Bernard Shaw, is there?" I asked the British man who was overseeing the garage sale, as I handed over my four dollars and bought the teacup.