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| 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 . . .
