Thursday, December 20, 2007

Slurpin' Down the Sauce

My husband has a little problem. . .

He loves soda pop! He can't get enough of it, and will often bypass a meal, and chug a couple of 32 oz mugs instead, so he doesn't have to take the time to sit down and eat. Unbelievable. : )

This morning he came in and sat down on the bed. It was way too early. I've had enough of this 'getting up when it's still dark' nonsense.

"I took it easy on the pop yesterday", he said, "and now I think I'm coming down with a cold. See! This is what happens when I don't get enough pop."

Of course his coming down with the sniffles has nothing to do with the fact that the rest of us have been battling strep throat and bronchitis for weeks. . . . He's just not here enough to actually encounter the germs. . . .

"You need orange juice", I said. "And you need to drink lots of water."

"No! I need soda!" he snapped, feigning irritability. "Soda! Soda. . . . . " Now he was calling out the word, as if trying to magically summon whatever pop might be in the house to aid him in his extremity.

"I don't think the root beer in the fridge is gonna sprout tiny little wings and come flying to your rescue." I retorted disdainfully. "Now let me sleep."

He proceeded to spitefully bounce the edge of the bed, instigating war. I yanked the blanket higher up over my shoulders, stubbornly curled up in the fetal position and refused to move.

"We should just make a pact, pinky swear and everything." I suggested after a few minutes. "I'll cut back on the chocolate, and you quit drinking pop."

He snorted with disgust. "Sure! That's like you going to get the paper, and me jogging up to the capital building and back!" Now he was whipping his wet hair in my direction and buttoning up his shirt. Goodness, he has run marathons. . . .

"Hey, chocolate does tempt me. . . " I responded tentatively, knowing full well that this wager wasn't even. "By the way, I found your stash."

"Stash? What stash?" he asked, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and pretending to look innocent, while putting on his shoes.

"The box of Vault in the back of your truck." It was Coca-Cola's answer to Mountain Dew. His favorite.

"Huh? Oh. You found that did you . . ? Well, at least I didn't bring it in the house."

I'd banished all caffeinated soda from the fridge a couple of years ago.

Not feeling much compassion for his predicament, I tried to be supportive via tough love.

"C'mon Honey", I said."Jump back on the wagon. You can do it! You've done it before. . . " There have been times when he's given it up for 2 or 3 months at a time.

"Sorry. I gotta have my Coke fix. We need to support the company, you know. Plus, I don't always get enough sleep." There was no arguing with him. He's been with Coke for 15 plus years.

Some habits are sooo hard to break. Me? I'm not obsessive. . . I won't talk about my 3 hundred or so rolls of film that I have yet to develop, or my collection of 4000 digital pix on the hard drive. Good thing they keep upping the space on these things. What are we up to now? 20 gig? I don't know. I'll leave that to the techies. Helpful techies like my ever lovin' man. : )

. . who is probably heading to work right now, slurping down the sauce, and driving way too fast. A day in the life of a Coke Man . . .

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