September 5th 2007 9:14 pm
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I wasn't feeling so well tonight. Mom took a look at me and I gave her one of those puppy-eyed looks that can melt the hardest of hearts. "Buddy, are you okay? Are you sick? You don't look right to me." She told Dad she would let me outside in case I was going to do something poopish. Well, as soon as she got up, I shook off my ills and bounded out into the backyard. I was kinda thirsty, so I went off to a dark, seedy corner where I knew a drink could be had. The water was green and sort of "chunky," but no matter.
Oh, did Mom yell at me!
Okay. I admit it. I have a drinking problem. If I see it and it's drinkable, I drink it. No matter if it's weeks-old, stagnant rainwater in the overturned lid to the kids' toy bin, the overflow bucket for the rain barrel, an old pot or that plastic container full of shells and rocks from the family's Pacific Northwest vacation this past summer. Those were tasty - kinda salty and briny with a hint of rainforest and slug slime.
I don't know why I do it. I know there's always clean water in the kitchen. It's not like I can't wait until I get back inside. It's just there, so I take a lick. It's just so much more exciting than plain tap water. So textural and complex. Come on, I've seen what the parentals drink every morning. They filter out a lot of dirt before they drink it, but I know that's what's in there. What's wrong with a little green scum when they're drinkin' strained dirt every morning? How could my habit be any worse than theirs?
Anyway, one more needless restriction has been imposed on my young life. Mom is afraid my eating and drinking habits are having adverse effects on my bowel function. Maybe she's right. I guess I'll just have to lay off the sauce for a while and see how it goes. Mom says that just by admitting I have a problem, I have taken the first step towards gastrointestinal wellness.
I need a drink.