“Cheers!” I hear as I’m lifted high into the air, clinked against another glass, and turned bottoms up. That’s my favorite part - the topsy-turvy feeling when you suddenly tilt me upside-down for a few seconds. Sometimes it’s two, even three times in a row.

It’s Friday night and you’ve invited your friends over. I see your roommates, some familiar faces, and one or two new ones. There’s music on - I’ve definitely heard this song before, and you’re looking at me like you’ve just had a great idea. “Shots?” you announce. Suddenly everyone is gathering around, laughing and reaching for my friends and me.

I love hearing the toasts that you and your friends make - to a new semester, new friendships, and a great weekend. They are filled with so much hope and promise. Sometimes you toast to something you desperately want, like a snow day or passing test score. Other times you can’t think of anything, and toast to something funny. Your friend toasted to the importance of pockets once, you laughed and turned me upside-down anyways.

I also love your smile as you lift me up, and you’re surrounded by all your friends and I’m butting heads with all of mine. You scrunch your face up like you drank something sour, but afterwards, the smile you had returns.

When you go to bed that night, and my friends and I are left lined-up on the counter, we whisper about the priceless moments we witnessed. My buddy laughs at how his owner danced on the table, and I feel loved as I remember a stranger reaching for me when you said, “Wait — that one’s mine.”

I wonder if you remember the day you picked me out. You spotted me from a shelf of look-a-likes, examined me from all sides, and carried me off. I was so excited. I finally had a home. I ended up on the windowsill in your kitchen and instantly made friends with the other shot glasses you’ve collected over the years. The one from your trip abroad is now my best friend.

I’ll admit it’s a fun life, but being a shot glass is risky business.

First, there’s the pit of doom. You call it the “garbage disposal.” I see its deadly grasp in my worst nightmares. Many fine comrades have fallen victim to its merciless clutches after their owners recklessly placed them in the sink and they slipped down into the hole of no return. I hear them shatter into bits. I cringe thinking that I’ll be next, but I know you'll look out for me.

I can’t always look after you, though. I watch someone cough and they grab me. They don’t wash their hands, and I feel the germs crawling onto me. Then you come along afterwards and take a swig before I am washed. You're sick the entire next week. I feel bad I did this to you, but maybe you shouldn’t share drinks so readily – ya nasty.

I hope you appreciate me as much as I appreciate you. I hold onto the memory when you called me your “favorite.” Sometimes you leave me on the windowsill for weeks, but eventually, a Friday rolls around when you feel like celebrating and I have meaning again.

Anyways, thanks for choosing me. See you next weekend.