It’s a Friday evening and I am inspired to drink something different that I would usually not drink on a day to day basis. So I pick a Pomegranate sparkling juice, because I love the way it feels to drink in a big portion of it and leave it lingering in your mouth. This way, your tongue can swim in it and feel like it’s being pinched by all the little bubbles.
So, I attempt to try and open this bottle with a spring-green top on it, and I am very unsuccessful. I try opening it until I am forming blisters under my fingers. After trying to open it with a kitchen towel and a paper towel and my shirt, I begin imagining myself as one of those terrible actors on infomercials who I always make fun of. I find myself wishing I had one of those rubber gadgets to open bottles with, and hoping that I really was not succumbing to the ridiculous infomercial world.
This is when I realize that I don’t need a rubber infomercial gadget….I own a husband who is strong and burly, and grows thick hair on his arms and chest because he is the manliest of mans (hah). He opens the bottle in one frisk twist of the wrist, and in the milisecond it takes him to open my sparkling juice, my blisters sting and it reminds me of how much I miss being a child who plays on the monkey bars through all of recess and lunch breaks and sports their blisters like a battle wound from freedom of responsibility.
But, I shake off my thoughts as David hands me my bottle and I pour myself a glass over three ice cubes. I sit down to drink, and as I swallow my first big gulp, I am secretly wishing it tasted more of Capri Sun, Juicy Juice, or maybe, just maybe even Koolaid.
