you're shakin my confidence

In Praise of the Diet Cola
I drink diet coke. Often. As I sit typing this essay it’s noon and I’m half-way through my second can of the day. Addiction? Oh, I don’t know. I’d be ok without it. But just ok. I wouldn’t be great like I am right now as I sip the cool, carbonated, artificially sweetened beverage.
My adoration is often met with mixed reviews. “Full of carcinogens”, “Habit-forming”, “God hates Caffeine”, I’ve heard. To this I stroke the silver can and say, “You’re so misunderstood”. And I mean it. Because diet coke is there for me.
I rarely fall ill. A friend watched me purchase a two-liter bottle and with a disapproving look began yet another that’s-so-bad-for-you-you’re-going-to-die speech. Her particular kicker this time was “we clean toilets with coke”. I assume she meant to suggest that anything used to disinfect toilet-bowls should stay out of the body. I think she’s wrong. diet coke is my personal weapon against sickness. Just as it cleans a toilet, it cleans my insides, killing viral intruders. As those around me cough and sneeze I sip and smile.
There is a price to be paid. About 75 cents a can, more specifically. Plus dental fees. I recently had my first cavity, and my cola and I had our first fight. We took a day or two apart as I contemplated the nature of our relationship, and diet coke sat patiently in my fridge. It was not long before I missed the bubbles, the icy coolness, and slightly bitter aftertaste of my beloved drink. As I opened the fridge, the record player of my mind plaid Peaches and Herbs, and with the first sip I sang along, “Reunited and it feels so good”. From that point on I’ve been fully committed.
Diet coke is the oil that burns at midnight. Every “A” paper written past midnight, which has been all of them, (all have been written after midnight- not all have been “A”s) is thanks to diet coke. A fresh can come about 2 am lends a caffeine-induced clarity of mind otherwise lost to heavy eyelids and a bobbing head.