Dear Crush

Dear Crush,

Where do I even start?

Look, I'm sorry that we haven't talked in a while. When was it even? The last time I remember seeing you around you were in a two-liter hanging out with that guy I was dating back in 2003, and, frankly, I thought it was a bit childish of him to even take you out. At the time, I blew you off, given my aversion to consuming things that look like they were poured directly out of glow-stick, but I've begun to see you with a new interest now that I realize what an incredible breadth of experience you have in the soft-drink capacity.

I mean, Red Licorice flavored Crush? That's exotic. Pear? Intriguing.

Chocolate? Ok...that's just weird.

Anyway, I wanted to write and let you know that even when you feel like you're just the dumb little cousin of fancy-pants Fanta, I won't forget you. You were forever branded into my memory at Kelly's 13th birthday party when we were all swooning over JTT and the charm bracelet Kelly's Mom gave her. All of a sudden she got a sick look on her face, jumped up, and turning away from the cake table, puked her guts out into the swimming pool.

There you were, Orange Crush, mixed with the vestiges of her birthday lunch, hotdogs and Doritos, swirling your way through what was supposed to be the afternoon's entertainment. You were a neon-orange-mixed-with-chlorine-blue paisley reminder of what gluttony can do to a sensitive stomach.

Don't worry though, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around more and more, what with the young'uns around. Let's just let the bygones be bygones. I'll try and refrain from referring to you as alien blood if you try to stay where you're guzzled.

Sincerely.