The first call starts at nine, the second at nine thirty, and by the third you have stopped pretending the agenda means anything. The mug is there for all of them, half full, patient, quietly agreeing with you: this could have been an email.
The artwork says it plainly. Two stacked rows of bold modern type in plain sentence case, full stop included, typed the way you would actually send it. Beneath sits a small rounded confirmation pill, a tick in a filled circle beside the word Sent, the little notice that appears once the message has gone. Nothing added, nothing explained.
The design wraps both sides, so it reads whichever way you pick it up.
It goes to the coworker whose camera is always off but whose opinions are always on, the manager who finally cancelled the Friday sync, or the friend who just set up a desk in the spare room. An easy desk gift for a work anniversary, a new remote role or the office gift swap.
Sent. Refill before the next one.
