If you had told me a week ago I’d be eating a bowl of chicken noodle soup on a steamy July day when the temperature topped 94° and the heat index was a full 10 degrees warmer, I would have laughed in your face and asked you what kind of bridge you were trying to sell me. And yet, there I was, slurping down hot soup on Sunday evening, even as the weather approached You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me With This Shit criteria.
There’s only one reason I would subscribe to such insanity: a bad cold. But I don’t get sick! It’s simply not in my DNA!
At least that’s what I told myself when Tara came down with a cold a couple of weeks ago. It was a nasty one, too. She barely left the house for a solid week. As bad as I felt for her, I wasn’t worried about catching it myself, even though it sounded like she was hacking up a lung for days on end. “We never give each other our colds,” I confidently told everyone. “I’ll be fine!”
And I was for a week. By then, Tara was on the mend, and I was certain I was in the clear, so I let my guard down.
You can pretty much fill in the blanks from there.
Colds suck. Summer colds doubly so. At least in the winter, I don’t feel too bad staying cooped up inside. It’s not like there’s grass to cut or weeds to pull, and I sure as hell don’t want to go kayaking in December. But this time of year there’s too much shit to do. Ain’t nobody got time for a cold!
Truth is, I probably wouldn’t have gotten much done outside anyway due to the heat and humidity. But being forced to stay indoors because you’re feeling miserable hits different.
Hence, the chicken noodle soup. Weather be damned, it was delicious. And we had the A/C blasting anyway.
The soup must have worked its magic too, because while I still feel like crud today, it’s maybe a 7 on the Crap Meter versus a 9 yesterday. I’m not coughing nearly as much and I’m okay enough to still work (from home, luckily). Hopefully in another day or two I’ll no longer feel under the weather.
A phrase, by the way, which makes absolutely no sense. Aren’t we always under the weather, regardless of how we physically feel? Rain doesn’t fall up from the ground, and with the possible exception of a very low fog, clouds are always overhead.
(Actually, earlier this year, I was reading The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny and Murder, and learned that the idiom originated with sailors in the 1800s; when they weren’t feeling well, they went below deck to escape the harsh weather conditions. I love origin stories like this!)
Mojito, My Ass!
I blame this cold on my addled mental state. How else to explain my decision on Saturday to pick up a case of La Croix instead of my beloved Spindrift?!
I should know better. I do know better. When I first got into sparkling waters, I gave La Croix a try. I was not impressed. (Other than the coconut, which is very divisive. Some people say it tastes like suntan lotion, but I found it refreshing.) Ditto Polar and Waterloo and Zevia and all the other wannabe brands. None of them are even remotely as good as Spindrift.
I guess I can blame the CheeseGov fridge. Last week I saw a can of La Croix Mojito in there – right next to the weird jar of kraut, actually – and was intrigued. Spindrift’s version, called Nojito, is one of my favorite flavors. It’s all limey, minty goodness. Plus, I reasoned, La Croix is a Wisconsin brand. I’m all about supporting the local economy, so I picked up a 12-pack from Woodman’s on Saturday.
Guys, the guilt was intense. I tried to sneak the La Croix into my shopping cart, even going so far as to hide it beneath a loaf of bread and a bag of cherries, but it was directly across the aisle from the Spindrift display. Strategic placement aside, I know those cans of Spindrift saw the whole sordid affair. It felt like I had just been caught committing adultery on a Coldplay kiss cam. I’m sorry, I mouthed to the Spindrift. Forgive me this one transgression.
In the end, as is usually the case when it comes to matters of the heart, the betrayal wasn’t worth it. I don’t know that I’d call the La Croix “bad,” per se…but it’s not good either. It’s completely flavorless, which is the problem I have with most other sparkling waters that are not Spindrift. It doesn’t taste the least bit like a mojito. There’s nary a whisper of lime or mint. THIS IS FALSE ADVERTISING, PEOPLE! I even tried adding half a fresh-squeezed lime, which helped, but it needed that mint to cut the tartness and I didn’t feel like wandering out to the garden, being under the weather and whatnot, to snip a few leaves.
Lesson learned: cheaters never win. If nothing else, I know that my loyalty to Spindrift isn’t misplaced.
Now, what am I going to do with 11 unopened cans of La Croix…?
Mark My Words 
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