A Cry for Help!

Do you know what’s really freaking hard? Staying Diet Coke sober, that’s what.

I was doing great. Then I decided that, what the heck? I’m in Detroit on vacation, I can splurge! Jay, Carol, our kids, and I were on our way to the pool and what is better than sitting in the hot sun with a large Diet Coke from McDonald's in tow, the tantalizingly delicious brown and bubbly liquid beckoning from inside its tall, fat cup, condensation dripping off the sides? Wait, I have to catch my breath. Okay. I’m okay.

So, I did it. Then I did it again on my birthday. It was my birthday for Pete’s sake. Who would begrudge a girl a Diet Coke on her birthday? But it really sucked. It wasn’t from a fountain, it was from a c-c-can. (Why even bother putting glorious Diet Coke in a can and ruining it?). I drank it anyway. But I think it must be as methadone is to heroine.

Now I want it all the dang time. I sit at work and know that down every hall, in every direction, on each floor, there are soda fountains proudly displaying their wares – Coke, Sprite, Minute Maid Lemonade, HiC. And yes, the crowning glory, Diet Coke. Wax-coated, Ronald McDonald-faced cups nest innocently at each beverage bar waiting to be filled. Small cubes of ice lay in wait in freezers below. It would be so easy, so easy, to just walk on over and take a sip. One little sip.

Which would lead to a gulp, which would lead to a cup, which would lead to two and…so on.

Who needs friends when you have enemies like Diet Coke?