We drink a lot of soda, and it’s mostly me but it’s also both of us, and I don’t feel like I need to define “a lot” for you, but it is a lot, and I know it’s a lot because whenever I hear someone defensively talk about their soda consumption in an “I know it’s a lot, but I don’t even care,” tone of text (I only hear it in text because I won’t even listen to you talk in that tone of voice about your soda consumption or your calorie consumption or your exercise frequency or your children’s television watchery or body-mass-chicken-nugget-index because I will not even go down that road with you and if you insist on going down it in my presence, you will find you are walking alone because I have veered off down a side path that looks less wooded and maybe it’s paved and hey, look, there’s a soda machine and a bench, I’ll be over here, sitting, when you’re done judging yourself because I am not listening anymore, I am over here now, on the bench, probably with a soda), I think, well, that isn’t a lot. So I know that we (I) probably drink more than a lot, or maybe it’s an average amount but everyone is in a weird self-down-rounding internal competition, where you drink X amount, which you know is a lot, but YOU think that WE (the general we) think that Y amount is a lot, so you claim to drink Y+2, and not even care, and everyone is just doing complicated math based on what they think everyone else is thinking.
This isn’t the point of the post at all, but as a side note, I’m trying to imagine “And do you believe how much soda she drinks?” coming out of the mouth of anyone but an asshole, and I’m having a really hard time. In no world is that a concern to anyone else. “No, but it makes my insurance costs go up!” So do people with allergies and asthma who insist on owning cats, and people who play sports that put them at risk for injuries, and runners, because that shit is hard on your legs. Also, that’s just as bad as guys who think that women shouldn’t wear makeup because it’s like lying and they need to be able to see what women actually look like because, you have to understand, men are seeking out the best genetic match, and makeup clouds that issue.
No, people are concerned about the food/soda consumption of others because they’re kind of jerks, even if they really want to say “blah blah my insurance.” Same way some men really want to claim a right to seek out the best genetic match when they’re really just confused and intimidated by makeup and have no legitimate leg to stand on when it comes to demanding some kind of right to see any and every woman’s bare face at all times in order to evaluate her as a potential sexual mate, haaaa, you’re an idiot. No. That’s some weirdass form of concern trolling, where you cover up your dickish behavior by claiming some kind of deep reasoning for it that actually justifies and explains it. Except no, you’re just a total dick. So if you find yourself concerned about whether or not other people might be concerned about how much soda you are drinking, remind yourself that if they are concerned about it, they probably have bigger struggles ahead and you should try to feel some compassion for how badly it might hurt when they pull their heads out of their asses. Someday. Maybe.
“NO, BUT PEOPLE WHO DRINK A LOT OF SODA REALLY DO RAISE MY — ”
All of that was unnecessary, really, and I might delete it in the morning and anyone who read it on East Coast time will be like, “I SWEAR there were 600 more words here,” because sometimes some things aren’t worth it, because this really doesn’t have as much do to with the amount of soda consumed PER DAY as it does with the number of 12 packs we like to buy at a time. Which is a bunch. Because we wait for sales. BECAUSE WE DRINK A LOT OF SODA.
Sometimes I’m the one who goes to the store and buys all the soda, because Phil works all day and once in a great while, it works out that I can take the car and shop around naptime and Phil drop off and pickup times, but when that’s the case, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I will just be throwing the cold things into the fridge, moving everything else out of dog eating range – WHICH IS MUCH HIGHER THAN YOU’D THINK – and running back out the door. So the 12 packs of soda often get left right inside the door.
Actually, when Phil was away, I tried leaving some inside the car for a while, but I discovered how bad of an idea THAT was one evening when I decided to take Sheldon to the dog park, loaded him in the back of the SUV, buckled Penelope in to her seat, backed out of the driveway, and STARTED HEARING EXPLOSIONS. What? WHAT? I thought, did I hit something? Did something fly up and hit the car? Sheldon was flipping out in the back, so I started rounding the block to go back home… and the car started to REEK of hot Diet Pepsi. And they kept BLOWING UP AROUND HIM. I think he has PTSDD.
A lot of times, even now that Phil is home, we have so much soda and we are so aggravated with dragging Penelope through the store that we still set the 12 packs down right inside the door. Sometime within the last couple of months, though, she decided to be helpful, and while we were unloading the groceries in the kitchen, she bent over and started pushing a 12 pack along the carpet, across the playroom, and down the hall to the closet where we keep the sodas. That side of the closet was locked, though, so she opened the other side and emptied all the shoes into the hall, then slid the case of soda in. She went back to the entry and got another, and shoved it down the hall and into the closet. She did this until the side of the closet was full, and then she found a way to shove the rest into the locked side of the closet.
Ever since then, she’s taken her job very seriously. When we come home with a new stock up of soda, she chugs down the hall, case by case, putting them away. If there are already boxes in there, she takes them out. If they have sodas in them, she takes the sodas out of them, and puts them… someplace. It varies. Sometimes we’re expected to drink them on the spot. She moves the empty boxes to the door to the garage. She still throws all the shoes out of the closet every time, because NOTHING can get in the way of replenishing the soda closet. She even experiments at times, lifting the 12 packs and trying to walk them down the hall. She can make it quite far. I don’t like to challenge her to any feats of strength.
We’ve never asked her to do this, it’s just something she does all on her own. She takes it seriously. She’s even made herself a soda steward of sorts, bringing me fresh cans throughout the day. Sometimes one, sometimes forty. It depends on what she thinks will best accompany my meal of hummus and stale pita chips right from the box that was just going to hang around in the pantry forever like no one saw it there even though they went and bought a new box and opened it like finishing the old box before you open a new box isn’t even a thing, Phillip.
So tonight, I have some work I have to do that I’ve known about for days, so of course it’s 11pm and I’ve done none of it. We ran out of soda this morning, and it was really convenient and easy to tell that we had, because the soda steward, a couple of days ago, had taken every single can of soda in the house and lined them up along this half wall thing we have, so it was like a neat little countdown to when we absolutely needed to go to the store before caffeine headaches and anger set in. Phil and Penelope made a Target run while I went to Ulta to return a couple of things that I’ll tell you about another day, so I knew we were all set. I went over to the closet to grab one, and they WEREN’T THERE. They were still sitting by the front door. From HOURS AGO.
And I actually turned my head and looked at Penelope’s bedroom door, where she has been sleeping since 7pm, and I went, “Ugh, SERIOUSLY?”
I said, “UGH, SERIOUSLY?” to the bedroom door of my sleeping TWO YEAR OLD because she hadn’t completed the chore that she VOLUNTARILY TOOK ON, that up until THAT VERY MOMENT, I just thought was ridiculously cute.
Don’t worry, I quickly realized I was being ridiculous, laughed at myself, and went and got a soda from by the door. And left them there for her to get tomorrow. It’s not like we ask a lot of her or anything.
Look at her fat little baby legs!
Look at her fat little baby face!
Look at her fat little baby glee!