A Life of Soda

A can of pop – soda, if you’re from the U.S. – is the kind of thing that can really get me going.

I used to drink it all the time as a child. My mother would hand me a soda any time I was getting hangry, and I got hangry a lot. Children often do, though it’s usually confused with something else. Rambunctiousness, or ADD or something.

Anyway, Mom would hand me a pop, and it would tide me over for a while. The calories were what I needed, sort of. Good vitamins and nutrition would have been better, but I was a kid, what did I know about nutrition? So, “Mom, I need a pop,” was my go-to phrase, and she would inevitably deliver.

I started with cola – it didn’t matter at first if it was Coke or Pepsi, but I eventually, with enough repetition, wanted one particular one. It didn’t matter which, it just depended on what had been on sale and we had stocked up on. I would drink one for a few months, and it would be all I wanted. The other tasted terrible.

There’s something to that, I think.

I eventually moved to Orange pop. It was like I was getting a healthy juice, but still sweet and sugary and carbonated!

Mom stopped that when my lips turned orange.

Root beer was next, occasionally offset by cream soda – again, depending on what was on sale. Both were tasty.

I think it was the scurvy that led Mom to start replacing my regular pop ration with fruit juices. My blackening gums were pretty gross, and thankfully doctors are covered here, so I got my diagnosis – less sugar things, more vitamin C.

It was good for my figure, too. I slimmed right down to a hundred and eighty pounds at my four feet three inches, and boy did I feel good about that.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that pop was good for me. It taught me a lot about life, I think. Like about commerce and the sway of marketing and the demands of budgetary concerns and how the world really isn’t good to the majority of people. Or maybe that I’m just hangry again, and could really go for a grape pop.

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