Hello, my name is Joell, and I am a Diet Dr. Pepper addict.
Around here, we just call it by its real name—crack.
How does my man show his love for me?
He brings me home a 2 liter of DDP. Yes, that works as a bribe for most anything. He’s a keeper, for sure.
Why do I love that liquid gold so? It’s hard to say. It could be that it is so good that you can’t tell the difference between DDP and the real thing. That way, I feel like I am getting all the good/bad stuff (whichever) without drinking the fully leaded DP. Or maybe it’s how that CO2 bubbles up and tickles my nose.
I don’t know, but I do know that I love it more than Southern sweet iced tea, and, people, that is mother’s milk down here. I love it more than coffee. And I love my coffee a lot, y’all.
If I need to sponsor a 12-step program, let me know, because to be sure I can’t be the only one.
Wait a minute, better just scratch that, I don’t think I’m quite ready to kick the habit just yet. Maybe the fact that Mama doesn’t share her DDP—with anyone—confirms that fact. Okay, so I am not going to be your go-to person for that, after all. How about just a DDP lovers club?
In other news, I would like to give a little public service announcement encouraging the pastime of dancing (badly) in the kitchen to 80s music whilst preparing dinner. Hopefully, your children have friends over and you can embarrass them. If not, at least your children can make fun of you and you can all have a good laugh. And while they are there in the kitchen, they can become educated in the awesomeness of the 80s, help cook dinner and unload the dishwasher as punishment! Next thing you know, BAM, you’re making memories! Score one for Mama!
And by the way, as you celebrate Independence Day, please do think of my poor, (11 year old) puppy, Jiffy, because over the next few days, there will be heart attacks galore. Down here in South Carolina, where fireworks are legal, people don’t really need a holiday to shoot off fireworks. It could be February 5th or October 10th—no matter—one day is as good as any other. So, when they actually do have a reason, well, they go all kinds of crazy. And therefore, so does my dog. The 4th of July is more of a week-long fireworks bonanza in my ‘hood, rather than a one night only performance. As I type, the Jiffster is running around like the Tasmanian Devil, barking her fool head off. Poor kid.
Well, Happy 4th of July, y’all!
And don’t forget to dance in the kitchen!
“There is a bit of insanity in dancing that does everybody a great deal of good.” ~Edwin Denby