Drinking Dr. Pepper is tantamount to smoking crack…

I loves me some caffeine.  Let’s just get that established right away.  Whether I love it because it was forbidden growing up, or because I am addicted is neither here nor there. I just love it.  I’ve already had two cups of giant coffee this morning and an iced coffee after lunch.  I’m so immune to caffeine at this point that I could probably drink a pot of coffee before bed and sleep like a baby.

Let’s reminisce on how this all came about… It’s really a two part story that starts with me being instructed (at 4 years old) that when I visit my hideously Un-Mormon father, who I have also been instructed to start calling by his first name, I should ONLY DRINK 7UP, SPRITE, OR ROOTBEER.  Under no circumstances am I to have Pepsi, Coke or Dr. Pepper.  Check.  Copy that.  No caffeine, ok.   It’s safe to say that I knew at a very young age that caffeinated sodas were off limits.

But when I was 8 years old one of the greatest joys of my life was taking dance class once a week after school.  I rode in a minivan that picked us up from school, took us to class and then dropped us off at home after.  Dance class was a big deal.  We were poor and my mom let me know that she could be using the child support money in much better ways.  I have always really appreciated those few years of dance class.  But I digress…

Dance class was fun.  But one of the best parts of dance class was taking my quarter to the soda machine after class and getting a bottle of 7UP out of the machine to drink on the ride home.  Corny, I know, but this was a big deal to me and it was a luxury.  On one particular day after class the machine was empty, save two bottles of  Dr. Pepper.


What to do?  I KNEW Dr. Pepper was forbidden, but I wasn’t about to miss out on my special weekly indulgence.  I stood in front of the machine and weighed the pros and cons and decided that I would risk it.  I’d just drink it in the van and leave the bottle in the van when I was finished.  No one had to know.

Except that there was a shit storm of epic proportions when I got in the van.  My fellow Mormon classmates acted like I had rolled up with a six pack of beer.   I told the girls that it was fine.  There were no other options available and I wouldn’t get in trouble. (LIES!  ALL LIES!)  One girl told me that I better talk to the bishop on Sunday about it and another girl told me that I was bad and she wasn’t ever going to talk to me again.  So I sat in the back of the van and cried, clutching my Dr. Pepper with my little hands and drinking it like the homeless people drink from brown paper bags on the back of the bus…

When the van pulled up to my house I quietly stuck the bottle under my seat and started to climb out.  “Not so fast!” yelled the van driver “Don’t forget your Dr. Pepper bottle- your mom’s gonna want to see that…”  So I climbed back in and got the bottle, amidst the clucking of judgmental eight year old tongues and prepared myself to dash in the house and hide the bottle.  If I had grown up to be an alcoholic, which thankfully, I did not, I would have had major skills at hiding bottles…

And I did it!  I hid the bottle!  I stuffed it way down in the garbage and I was so relieved to get away with it that I went to my room and cried and shook for ten minutes straight.  Dinner went off without a hitch, no problemo.  But then the phone rang…

One of those little bitches on the bus told her mom about my hideous indiscretion, and her mom was calling to rat me out.  I vehemently denied the charges, clenched my fists and lied with all my heart.   My awesome, lovely stepdad could smell a rat though, and within seconds he pulled the bottle from the garbage.

And folks, you know how this one ends….

Then my mom gave me ice cream and put me to bed early.

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This entry was posted on Friday, April 30th, 2010 at 9:28 pm and is filed under Random Musings.

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  1. May 7th, 2010 | Becky says:

    Your blog rocks. :-)