Hopelessly Addicted

I've had it with DP, so we're breaking up. She's costing me a fortune: $730.00 per year. And I feel embarrassed when I roll up behind that woman whose cart is filled with "caffeine free." She's so spiritual. Then I have to cringe when that ol' Word of Wisdom topic comes up because I know I gotz a habit. So today, I told my kids that it's over between me and DP. Sam responded, "Yeah, yeah. You'll quit...just after you have about 80 million more 12 packs. He knows me too well. He's right; I'm hopelessly addicted.

It all started with the late night shifts I had while working at the Gap. Combine my shifts with going to school full time and living next door to Maverick's drive-thru, I had no hope. I was tired, desperately searching for something to kickstart my dragging rehind (our word for buttocks). I'd be breaking the Honor Code if I used meth., so I opted for a little DP.

I loved the ritual of it all: pressing my 32 ouncer against the the ice dispenser's metal arm, watching the small ice cubes drop until the cup was half full, and then shuffling over to the soda fountains so I could push DP's "fill'er up" button. I'd slap that plastic lid atop my full cup, slide in an extra skinny straw, and pay my .69 cents. She was the cheap, fast energy that I craved.

But now I have kids who are growing wiser by the day. And they're giving me grief for making them drink Green Machine while I sip my glass of DP.

They say:

"Soda is bad for you, Mom. It makes your bones shrink and your teeth rotten."

I tell them, "But I drink diet."

They say, "It will make your rehind big like a bag of wet clothes."

I tell them, "At least my big rehind won't be draggin' "

They say, "You really should stop."

I know I should, so I will...just as soon as I finish the 12 pack that's sitting in my fridge.