Ode to Soda Pop

My dear, sweet, fizzy liquid, oh how I miss thee! I long for your burn and rush of flavor into my mouth. Sometimes I have difficulty controling myself when I am near someone holding a beautiful, curvatious bottle of soda. The kind that is fogged from being so cold on such a hot day with beads of sweat slowly trickling down its side. When I see that silver label of DC or that maroon label of DP I must painfully hold back physical violence towards these innocent drinkers. They can’t know what pain they inflict upon me. They are simple people simply trying to quench their own cravings.

I know there are caffeine-free drinks in the world. I have tried a lot of them. Grape soda pleased me for a few days, caffeine-free DC is a sad shell of its normal self, and I am frankly disheartened at this point. I miss the burn most of all and caffeine-free soda just doesn’t offer the edge of searing pain that DC does.

I hear people say, “Yeah, but only six months more.” And I want to punch them in the face. One, six months is a LONG time. Two, there are about nine months after that of caffeine-free breast feeding. I wish I could suffer the pain of pregnancy and delivery and that Mr. Neruda could suffer all the sacrifices of pregnancy. Life would be better to such a degree that I would dance a jig on the Library counter nude!


  1. I would totally give up any food or beverage to see you dance nude on the library counter.

  2. Methinks you missed the point, dear.