Nectar of the

What I love about Diet Coke is that it hurts. My brother-in-law identified this most winning characteristic a couple of years ago, the "ouch, just what the doctor ordered" factor, and I'd say that that's one of my favorite things about the stuff. I like, too, that I feel like it keeps me up and peppy, and that it's inexplicably comforting (had a hard day? Have a coke!) and that it comes in tiny adorable bottles and cans, and I love the ritual of it. Monday morning coke buying. Monday morning coke consumption. A collective of tiny coke bottles waiting in the fridge at work to see me through the 4th period and on to lunch.

When I was growing up there was always coke in the fridge. It wasn't for general consumption: a dad only sort of a thing, but I know for a fact I wasn't the only one sneaking a nip or two a day. Something about a clandestine sip of coke straight from the two liter bottle was so appealing and even now, when my reliable income and car driving let me get all the fountainy diet coke goodness over ice I want, there's something in me that loves a nearing-flat shot out of the big bottle.

In fifth grade, we found that if we left the bus stop early and tromped straight down the mountain, we could fit a Kent's run in before the first bell rang. Kent's market was where the Creamery on Ninth is now, and was small grocery store heaven for 11 year olds: candy, soda, barrels of bulk sunflower seeds and fruit jets. And so instead of using the $1.25 my mom gave me for lunch money on hot lunch, I would buy a diet coke and sunflower seeds. Or a diet coke and watermelon jolly rancher bar or a diet coke and kiwi. Meikel and Lauren soon joined in (or I joined them or maybe we bonded, essentially, over coke) and our afternoons and weekends were dominated by searches for coke. And that lovely stinging feel of coke on a briney (from the spits) tongue.

And I wonder about my devotion to coke and its influence on friends. I remember very distinctly trying to seduce a lovely upstanding cousin of mine to join in the coke swiping (I hope you're reading this and I hope you remember). I actually said "what can it hurt? No one will ever know." Lines I'd no doubt picked up from the second grade just say no campaigns. Or Satan. She said no. When I started working at Weller's Amanda and I had a discussion about one summer when she was devoted to diet coke, but that she'd gotten over it. "It tastes like soil" I think was her argument. Which point I'll concede. By the time I left our favorite smoking-break snack was Beto's tortillas and a coke (though their coke was too sweet and tasted like windex). I have left a long line of coke drinkers in my wake.

On Saturday I got to Amanda's house (different Amanda. Amanda #3 of 4) at midnight. First order of business: 7-11 run. She got fountain and I got a bottle (mostly so I could keep it to drink at breakfast the next morning. Which I did. It suit the lemon curd-blueberry-whipped cream crepes marvelously) and then we stayed up, caffienated, till 4:30, chatting.

Anyway. Love the stuff.