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It's Melmac. My latest coffee cup.

It's a beauty from the 1960s. I stole it from the summer camp I volunteer with.

A flesh-coloured, sculpted treasure, it's been filled about six times this morning already.

I just went to the office coffee pot, filled it, got into a short conversation on the way back, drained it in the three minutes of talk, then returned to the coffee pot, filled it again and returned to my office.

I'm working hard at drinking coffee, the way it suggests I should. Sip. Sip. Sip. It holds very little, and the coffee stays hot all the way to the bottom.

It is small because it is a cup that is meant to be around a group of people, all of whom are sharing a pot of coffee. It takes a part of the pot but leaves plenty for others. Little polite sips with lots of talk in between, a value also promoted by the teacup.

However, my Melmac cup is meant to be more animated than a teacup, which is designed to sit primly on its saucer. It is a cup that can be waved in the air while one talks, since it is worn like a ring on the index finger.

Coffee is the happy addition to friendship. My Melmac special is designed to be used in the direct vicinity of a coffee pot. It emphasizes the delight one feels from pouring yet another cup.

This is not a cup to walk with, as I have learned many times. The brown spots on my clothing and shoes attest to this learning.

I set it down next to the mother ship of coffee cups - my sailing mug. It's a greedy, navy-blue tank that holds more than half a pot of coffee below deck.

A mat of soft rubber covers the bottom. Its wide, cone shape lowers the mug's centre of gravity, decreasing the odds of tipping it. The shape also encourages spurts of coffee, splashing up because of turbulence, to fall back into the cup rather than outside of it.

It has a lid with a spout for coffee flow that can be opened like the valve of a fire hydrant, one that fits into my mouth and is designed to reduce spills. The lid is not a device that encourages economical sipping, but big, smutty, open-throated drafts after which I wipe my face clean with my sleeve.

The mug treats coffee more like a fuel than an accoutrement, to be drunk in situations when conversation is not necessary, perhaps when one is alone. Coffee quality is clearly less important than quantity.

The bottom is meant to grip unsteady, flat surfaces. This is a cup meant to stabilize a large amount of coffee for a long haul. It does not like cars, nor is it meant for driving. It takes two hands to manage it - one hand to hold it, one to open and close the lid.

But my copper-coloured mug with a chrome-rimmed lid, it loves the car. It's built for the cup holder. The lid has a valve on it that can be opened with the same hand that holds the handle.

Like my sailing mug, this cup promotes drinking coffee while doing something else. In this sense, it suggests whatever coffee it carries is not worthy of one's full attention.

In many cases, my cup is right: The coffee does not deserve special attention. So drink while you drive. Or drink while you meet. It suggests coffee is likely to be imported a fair distance, the pot nowhere close. It also cares about my clothes more than most mugs: It wants me to look good. An elaborate array of rubber rings locks the liquid within.

At home, I have two French bowls meant for drinking coffee. They're white, wide-mouthed dishes I could use for breakfast cereal if I wanted to. They hold a great deal of coffee, but the bowl requires two hands, and one cannot move while drinking.

The wide mouth insists that the coffee is sipped. Drinking too fast means I wear most of the beverage.

The bowl insists that the drinker sit calmly, and that he or she sit for a while. The drinker will not be getting up and down or talking and gesticulating energetically. The drinker is not to be driving, dressing or in a meeting. The drinker is made to sit and confront the brew.

With that much attention on the coffee, it had better be good.

Cup choice is at least as important as the coffee itself. It's not so much a container as a philosophy of coffee, answering the big beverage questions: what coffee's good for, how it should be enjoyed and how life should be lived around it.

The cup amounts to at least half of what I expect when I take a sip.

Bill Bunn lives in Calgary.