All right. Fine, OK, whatever. Jesus, stop looking at me like that. It’s just that I’ve been a little sick of all the juices and sodas lately. The other night I was food shopping, lonely as a cloud in the beverage aisles, thinking The next company that tries to make me drink something cherry-vanilla’d or green-tea’d is getting stabbed in the ass, AND NOT IN THE GOOD WAY.
But then —just like at Homecoming, when the DJ played “Making Love Out Of Nothing At All” and I thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life, and then Joanne, this girl from Chemistry who I’d never really noticed, asked me to dance, and suddenly, there in the gymnasium, under the streamers and disco ball, I realized She’s actually not a complete dog, if you ignore her breath and acne— there it was: Mike’s Hard Lime, jumping off the shelf and into my lap and heart. I mean it’s basically soda, right? With the sugar and the carbonation and what not? We’ve talked once before about my predilection for the fruity malt beverages, and not a thing has changed.
I’m not really an alcohol drinker, like, at all. Because I only enjoy sweet things, beer and wine for me are the potable equivalents of beets and cauliflower. Unfortunately this sudden love affair with Mike’s Hard Lime is turning out to cause major problems: I’m having a hard time reconciling my love for it with my normal, non-alcoholic beverage drinking tendencies. When I was checking out at the supermarket, I was like Oh man, I am drinking two of these as soon as I get to my car. No. Bad. Every morning I see them in the fridge and think: OMG I definitely need to have one of those before work. Also very bad. I seriously want to drink these all the time—while holding the baby and operating heavy machinery and writing on my blog and everything! I’m just saying please keep a close eye on me. You don’t suppose Mike’s Hard Lime is a gateway drug, do you? Watch there be a pomegranate-and-açai-infused meth. That’s all I need.