There’s a famous story involving my husband drinking in college. He’d had a bit much to drink when the guys ran out of beer. Justin, being the persuasive man that he is, insisted on continuing to drink the non-existent beer. Unsure of what to do, his friends poured water into the empty Natty Light cans and served them to my unsuspecting husband. He proudly swung them back, proclaiming the beer to be delicious.
Fast-forward thirteen years or so (after all, I’m sure Justin was well over twenty-one when this incident occurs). Robbie comes up the stairs with a cup in his hand, complaining that he’s thirsty. Being the attentive mother that we all know I am, I rush out to help him. He looks at me, points down the stairs, and says, “Diet Coke heavy, Mom. Please help.” And, sure enough, there was a two-liter of Diet Coke parked halfway up the stairs.
I tried to convince Robbie that milk or juice was the way to go, but he wasn’t having it. “Diet Coke, Mom. I want Diet Coke.” He may have even started chanting, “Diet Coke! Diet Coke!”
So, I did what any good mother would do. I rushed down the stairs ahead of him, swooping up the plastic bottle on my way. I ran to the sink, filled the cup 75% full with water, and then headed to the kitchen. I managed to pour juice in the rest of the cup just as Robbie came around the bend. He screamed that he wanted Diet Coke, and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to pull it off.
Quickly grabbing the bottle of Diet Coke, I opened it and pretended to pour it into the already full cup. And I had to be convincing, getting the liquid all the way to the lip of the bottle because Robbie was watching very carefully. With a flourish, I stopped “pouring”, screwed the cap back on, and presented Robbie with his Diet Coke. And held my breath.
He gratefully took the cup, now parched from all his chanting, and took a deep swig. His eyes met mine as he finished drinking. Robbie inhaled deeply and proclaimed, with great passion, “Oh, thanks, Mom! Yummy Diet Coke.”