Take it from a wine glass, you're weird.

I've always been fond of you. From a distance, that is. Human-watching, darling. I'm less keen, however, on looking straight down your gullet. Or getting your lipstick all over my seamless face. You're funny old things. Such contradictory, complicated, fascinating creatures. You're always talking. Yapping on about what was or wasn’t said, how you feel, what you're up to. Spilling the tea, but never the wine. Sure, I'm just a glass, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice things. I've a clear point of view. You argue, you love, you scroll. You cry, you laugh, you scroll. Credit where it's due, though, you’ve mapped the human genome, are on the cusp of spawning artificial general intelligence. You've split the atom, sent a probe to the sun, but can you stack a dishwasher?

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For the most part, you and your fellow humans run your dishwashers with space to spare. Which got me thinking. What is empty space anyway? I mean, can space ever be empty? Is it truly nothingness or is it full of something we have yet to see? I like to reflect on these things, you know. Sometimes, I like to think there is no glass, no me, no I. Look at me, I’m getting all philosophical. Well, that's us wine glasses for you. A lot of people know, for instance, that our bowl shapes are designed to enhance aromas, but did you know that the stem of a wine glass prevents heat from your hand warming the wine? Thin-lipped glasses are preferred, too, because they don’t interfere with the flow of wi