Someone... please... get me... a Cherry Coke.

It hit me today. The need. The want. The yearning.


I need a Cherry Coke so bad, I might die. Just maybe. And then I remind myself, "You can't have soda. Not for the rest of the year. Because remember that other New Year's resolution you made? The one where you vowed to not eat chocolate? For a year? And then you ate mint chocolate chip ice cream on New Year's Day? There will be none of that."

So here I am. With no Cherry Coke.

I didn't think it'd be difficult. I really didn't. I don't drink a lot of the stuff to begin with - only when I have a craving. But right now? I crave. I believe my eyes might start rolling in their sockets, and I could foam at the mouth. Spit fire. Breathe asbestos.

It's all around me. The open can of coke in the next cubicle. The machine in the break room. The 12-pack of Cherry Coke in the refrigerator at home because The Fiance is SATAN. (I kid, I kid).

He's at home, cracking open cans of the sweet nectar on the half-hour, I swear to God. Can after can. Mmm... Cherry Coke. Yum. Look at me. And it was between cans last night, as he was opening a new 12-pack, that he said he might consider giving up soda, too.

Now I would never wish the mental anguish I endure on anyone, especially this man of whom I intend to marry, but Hell, it's better than suffering alone.