We're at day 8 of a Diet Coke-free life, and I can't say things have gotten easier.
True, I'm not at the mercy of my chai tea to temper raging headaches. But some stressors in the office make me just want to break down and carve out six quarters for a fix - a price I'd never previously consider.
That said, no Diet Coke has touched my lips as yet.
But then came the Coke man. Yesterday at lunch, the delivery man shows. I jokingly said, "Have you got any for me?"
He says, "Sure what do you want?" I reply Diet Coke (OK, I was honest) or Diet Sprite. He sets four bottles on the break-room table.
I retract immediately, I didn't think he was serious. But, he said, they're considered overstocks and it was OK. I paused, and slowly dragged one bottle across the table, and say thanks as he leaves.
And I stare at it. 20 ounces of carbonated fix.
And then I grab it and two it of its sisters, and squirrel them into my lunch bag. I remember my priest's comment on how Sundays are "mini-Easters," and think I can keep it on hand in case of a "mini-crisis" in caffeine land.
And the bottles stayed in my bag. And my bag in the fridge. And this morning, I passed a cold one to my already-frazzled boss.
Maybe I can do this after all!