While we didn't always have new toys, books, clothes, or legal cable, we always had soda. Always. My uncles, who were all super young and cool, would come over and hang out with us. Basically they took turns watching us when our mom worked. I remember she'd have cans of soda and sometimes the glass bottles in the fridge. There was a cup or bowl on top of the fridge and if you took a soda you had to chip in for the next case. Later on I learned that this come was my key to the snow cone from the ice cream truck but that was for later years.
I don't know when I had my first hit exactly, but I reckon it was around age 5 when my Uncle Steven would watch us on Saturdays. Saturdays were great because we'd get a Happy Meal and basically got to free for all because racing was on and you didn't fuck with racing. Which was cool. Since it's apparently easier to order a soda with a Happy Meal instead of the healthier choice of milk that I wouldn't drink anyways, that's what we got. It was fabulous. Except it was Coke.
When I figured out how to open a can of Pepsi on my own not only did I feel bad ass for not slicing my finger off like my mom said I would, but I discovered it was a million times better than Coke. But obviously my mom wasn't going to willingly let me have Pepsi. Except after my first taste? Addicted.
I would wake up from having one of those dreams where you think it's real and you reach out for something only to fall directly onto the floor thinking I was reaching for a Pepsi. So I would sneak out of bed, down the hall, into the kitchen, steal a Pepsi, walk back to my room and as quietly as I could crack that can open. I would then chug as much as I could before feeling like I was going to throw up and store the half full can under my bed. Every night. For a long time.
Eventually we got ants. My mother assumed it was my brother bringing in "pets" and whatnot until she went to clean the room we shared. And discovered my secret.
In the form of 50+ half full cans of sugar. With ants.
Needless to say my mom finally figured out who the asshole was that wasn't chipping in for the soda AND where the ants were. Later on I would call this "multi tasking" but at the time my mom just called it "super pissed off". It was then she started counting the cans and I went through with drawls.
Fast forward to adulthood. I cannot function without a can a day. I'm down to a can a day and fuck all yall who think I should quit. Quitting is for pussies. When I was pregnant I was up to like 3 cans a day. Whatevs. Both of my kids are normal. And I don't drink coffee, energy drinks, etc. So I'm fine. I also don't drink milk or take in calcium so the fact that my bones haven't disintegrated is a miracle. I feel I'll be like Bob on that movie Monsters vs. Aliens. You know- the cute blue monster that's just a blob?? Yeah. That'll be me.
If I haven't had my Pepsi I cannot think about anything else other than the taste. The fizz on my tongue, the horrible I-feel-like-puking feeling if I hadn't eaten yet. But I don't like my Pepsi from a bottle. I like it in a glass, a can, or my preferred method is by fountain. Oh my. If I had a fountain machine in my house? I'd have to work from home. I think the only thing that kept me working at Dairy Queen and Culvers for so long was the fountain Pepsi. Asshole customers? Whatevs. I've got my Pepsi. Explosive shit in the bathroom to clean? Whatevs. I'm sipping my Pepsi. What? Your burger is fucked up? Fuck you. I'm drinking my Pepsi.
I have a lot of addictions but Pepsi is the one that I think is my longest running one. I will die with a Pepsi in my hand. By brain tumor.
OH- and the person who commented about how someone had a stroke by a sneeze?? Thanks. Because now I'm afraid to move my head.