mimi smartypants
Seriously, though: what's with the penguins?

you me me you

I have been Diet Coke*-less for 5 days, not by healthy-living design but because it has been a crazy week and we did not do our usual Big Shop. Do I miss it? Do I long for the sweet, cancer-in-rats-causing, artificially-colored fizzy stuff? HELL YES.

*Technically my preferred poison is Coke Zero, but I am one of the few agnostics in diet-cola land, and will buy whichever of the Big Two is on sale. In fact, LT and I just put the word “brown” on the shopping list, and each of us knows that it is acceptable to come home with Pepsi Max, Coke Zero, or the old-school diet versions of each. But hereafter in this hastily typed screed, “Diet Coke” is the term that will be used.

Someone in my life who knows that I sort-of-kind-of in-theory would like to not be Diet Coke’s bitch said, “After a few days, you won’t miss it! You’ll probably never go back!” NOT TRUE. Another thing this person said was, “Carbonated water with lemon juice is just as satisfying!” ALSO NOT TRUE.

I only drink one Diet Coke a day, unless a particular food (hello, grilled cheese and french fries) calls out to be accompanied by a second—but my singular Diet Coke is a particularly shameful Diet Coke, as it is a morning Diet Coke. Something about the caffeine, the coldness, the acid washing away the mouth-crud makes it so lovely for a wake-up drink. That’s probably why I am finding it so hard to go without. Ask any addict, the first toke/cigarette/drink/syringe of the day is always the sweetest.

Having been forced into the arms of other beverages, I went to Starbucks for iced coffee before work. I was somewhat dolled up in heeled boots, business-lady dress w/jacket, lipstick, etc, and thus I was feeling fiercer than normal. So let’s say I was maybe at about .016 Beyoncé (a Beyoncé being a unit of feminine fashion-fierceness). That’s a high level for me.

In line in front of me was a much fiercer business-lady, with a manicure and an expensive purse and everything. I would estimate she was hovering at around .33 of a Beyoncé. The cashier was trying to keep the line moving, and the guy who was next was zoning out on his phone, with headphones in and everything, and the poor girl’s repeated cries of “Can I help who’s next?” were going unheard. Involuntarily I muttered, “That’s YOU, bro” and the fiercer lady turned around and said, “Totally. Like, ever been to a Starbucks before? God.” We rolled our eyes and were bitches together. It was a bonding moment, like Cruella DeVille and Maleficent getting together for a latte, and since deep down I am really not a bitch it is unlikely to be repeated. Still, a pleasant moment in its own, bitchy way.

Yesterday I saw a goose walking across the street. In the crosswalk, just going from one side to the other. It was even at a stop sign so cars waited for it to get across just like for any other pedestrian. Hey, goose in the street! You can fly. (Fuck off, says the goose. I don’t feel like it.)

—mimi smartypants, goose in the street.