“Twelve!” I bellowed. “Why in God’s name do we have twelve containers of liquid on this one refrigerator shelf?”
Spike, of course, didn’t answer. Although whether it was because she knew the question had been rhetorical, or because she was hypnotized by yet another Hallmark movie, I can’t say for sure.
And it didn’t much matter. Is there any logical explanation for having that many beverages on hand for just two people? And so I took inventory, and here’s what I found:
There were two containers of milk, two percent don’t you know. And these weren’t pints or quarts either, but half gallons. To be fair, one of them was nearly empty, making the other a back-up. I think that’s one of the biggest changes that being married has wrought. When I was single I almost never had a back-up for anything. If I ran out of milk (or bread or clean underwear) perhaps I could go without for a day or two. I often did, and yet the world kept on turning.
The Brita pitcher was nearly full, and I’m happy to report that it’s something I use every day. I think the world has become so polluted that it’s important to drink purified water whenever you can. And that’s what I would be drinking, if not for the fact that I haven’t changed the filter since The Simpsons’ third season.
There was also a half gallon of eggnog in the refrigerator. Actually, if I want to be accurate there was a half-gallon container, with about half a cup of egg nog in it. Hey, ‘tis the season and all that. True, this was our second half gallon of the nog, and Christmas is still over a week away, but it’s important for me to be, you know, festive.
We always have lots of juice. It goes a long way to sweetening that broccoli/kale concoction I drink every morning. This particular container, half gallon of course, was apple-kiwi-strawberry. It’s quite delicious and I’ll probably go back to taking the occasional glug during the day; that is, once the egg nog runs out.
“Let’s not buy Diet Coke but only drink it when we’re out, like on special occasions,” I’ve said many times. Spike would always agree that this was a capital idea, and then return from the grocery store with yet another two-liter bottle of the poison. And it really is poison—it practically says so on the warning label. Hell, when I drink this garbage I don’t even feel I have the right to judge people who smoke. Well, at least it’s cheaper.
There was a large bottle of another kind of juice way in the back. This one is kind of a novelty in our home. It’s that V-8 Fusion stuff. You know, the juice that’s supposed to trick kids (and adults as well) into at least getting some vegetables. What a country.
And then there were not one, but two half-gallon containers of orange juice. And we know who those belong to. Me, I hardly ever touch the stuff. Spike, on the other hand, has been downing a big glass of OJ every morning since I met her twenty-five years ago, and probably before that. Even my parents tried to tell her to mix it with water to cut down on the acid, but to no avail. I expect by now she has a stomach lining about as thin as a butterfly wing, but what are you gonna do? She likes it.
Still, I try to improve on the liquids we consume. In a partially successful attempt to replace the Diet Coke with something a bit healthier, I have taken to making a bottle of carbonated water with our Soda Stream and then mixing in some fruit juice. It gives you that bubbly sensation in your mouth, tastes pretty good and doesn’t come with any warning labels. Still, it’s not Diet Coke. Hell, it’s not even Mountain Dew.
Hmm...that’s only ten. I know I counted twelve beverages the other day. Ah well, I suppose I can include the two bottles of not uncheap wine that reside not in the refrigerator, but on top of it. The brands and the types change fairly regularly but there are almost always two of them, an open bottle and a back-up. I never want to risk running out. I wouldn’t, after all, want to write these things sober.