Tiny Bubbles

See? Parents have the best parties.

Mom and Dad were having a bridge party.

Bridge is a card game.

Now you know as much as I do.

Moving on . . .

The cards tables were being set out.

Lacy, white cloths arranged.

Bowls of nuts and fancy dishes of bridge mix placed.

(Note: Pertaining to the bridge mix . . . some of those little balls of chocolate delicious-ness aren’t. Delicious, that is. The chocolate is there to fool unsuspecting children who may or may not be snitching. True story.)

Adults had the best parties.

Daddy was arranging the bar.

Now you have to know that my parents were teetotalers. But most of their friends weren’t. So they (my parents) got very creative with the drinks they served their guests so they (the guests) wouldn’t miss their normal imbibe-age-ness (Sigh. Okay, you’re right, I don’t know what to call it. Sheesh.).

Usually, their beverages of choice were fruit juices mixed with an assortment of fizzy soft drinks.

And all were kid approved.

I know because I was the kid.

And I approved.

“What’s that?” I’d ask Daddy.

“That is orange juice mixed with Cream Soda.”

“Can I have a sip?”

“Yes. Just a little sip.” Pours some into my glass.

Sippage. “Mmmm. I like that one!”

“Good.”

“Daddy. What’s that one?”

“That one is lemonade.”

“Can I have a sip?”

“Yes. Just a little sip.” Pours some into my glass.

Sippage. “Mmmm. I like that one.”

“Good.”

“Daddy . . .”

You can see where this is going.

So did my dad.

And we’ve come to the point of my story . . .

Now there were always guests that didn’t want their drinks so sweet. And for these, my parents stocked something called ‘Soda Water’.

And cut up lemons and limes.

Which looked intriguing.

Till Daddy let me suck on one.

Suckage. “Yuck! I don’t like that one!”

“Good.”

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to another drink he was preparing.

“That’s Soda Water.”

“Can I have a sip?”

“Sure.” Pours some into my glass.

Sippage. “Blah! Daddy that’s yucky stuff!”

Quiet laughter as Diane disappears.

The memory of that awful stuff stayed with me for decades. Yes, I have a very long memory. For anything unimportant.

This Christmas, Husby bought me a soda machine. Now I pour clear water into a bottle and attach it to the spigot. Push the button allowing lovely bubbles to be shot through the water, resulting in . . . soda water.

Sippage. Mmmm. I like that one!

How far I’ve come . . .