I fell for you again, Mr. Diet Soda.
You, with your promises of zero calories. I could commit to you without guilt.
Even though I promised to give you up, I went right back to you. But I knew my friends wouldn’t judge me if they saw us together.
I should have known better when I first started hanging out with you again, seeing as I needed to take a shot (or two) with you. My judgment was impaired.
After a while, I started bringing you everywhere. To work. Hanging out with my guy friends. I even snuck you with me on a girl’s night out!
I just love your bubbly coolness and the way you make me feel refreshed after some time together. You mix well with my favorite vices. I mean, I can’t imagine spiced rum without you… or movie popcorn, for that matter.
And your caffeine, ooh, your caffeine. In the middle of an especially horrible work week, just hearing the swish-crack of a can being opened in the office promises me a moment of deliverance. After I’m finished with you, I can face the challenges of another long afternoon.
At the end of the night, as I lie awake, indigestion bubbling to the surface, I wonder if it was all worth it.
In the morning, I do the walk of shame, away from my button down dress shirts hanging lonely in my closet, and towards my roomier peasant blouses. After all these days with you, I feel bloated, but empty; I’m awake, but unclear. I never should have left water for you.
Oh, Mr. Diet Soda! Curse you, and shame on me!
