When I was little, I thought soda was an alcoholic drink. The bubbles made me feel like I was drinking something secret and grown-up. I'd sneak a bottle from the fridge, head to a quiet corner, and take a sip, convinced that each fizzy gulp was making me "drunk." With every swallow, I'd feel my head spin a little more. Soon, I'd be laughing, stumbling around the room, thinking, "This is what being an adult feels like!"
One day, my dad caught me mid-sip, eyes wide. "Why are you acting like that after drinking soda?" he asked. I froze, embarrassed. After that, I promised myself no more soda-induced "parties." Maybe I wasn't ready for the "grown-up" world after all.
But back then, there were the "milk drinkers." The ones who stayed calm, sipping their quiet, white drink, never rolling around on the floor with laughter. We were the fizzy kids, buzzing with energy and imaginary hangovers. Milk drinkers couldn't understand the thrill of a "soda high." Ah, those bubbly days!
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