In grand December fashion, everyone I know is sick. Between family, friends, coworkers, and classmates coming down with various communicable viruses, I’m dodging biological bullets at every turn. This requires added protection:
In case you can’t tell from the caption, I hate orange juice. It’s literally the worst juice of all juices (will amend: I have never tried prune juice in living memory, but I can’t imagine it’s any nastier than oj)(second set of parentheses to say I need to stop hanging out with people who use “literally” like it’s literally the best word ever).
In the Trembly household, you either prevent winter illnesses by drinking orange juice or Airborne. Now, I am all for not getting sick, but isn’t chemistry advanced enough to make things that make you healthy also taste good? (Preventing myself from going on a rant about this lovely disorder, in which all of the healthy things that also taste good try to kill people.)
In order to get the bottle of antioxidants and vitamin C, I did what might be the laziest thing I’ve done all year. You know how you walk into a grocery store and you see someone in her pajamas and you go, “Doesn’t she have the decency to at least put on a real shirt?” That person is already one step ahead of me, since she actually changed into pajamas before going to bed. I rolled out of bed wearing the clothes I had on the night before, put on boots, and headed for the store.
Why share that story? To me, it’s a reminder about judging the book by the cover. I know that yesterday morning, I looked totally together when I wasn’t at all. It made me wonder what the other stories were. The lady who chose not to put her groceries in plastic bags, the gentleman who made a sharp turn into the cereal aisle to stare at nothing in particular for two solid minutes–what were their stories?
Do you know what yours is?