Pop

My husband wants to give me a chore for Christmas. He keeps talking about how great it would be to have a Sodastream. “Just think you could make your own soda whenever you want.” Yeah, or I could just grab a can out of the refrigerator, flip a metal tab and take a swig. With three kids I don’t have time to eat a hot plate of food. Now, you want me to die of thirst, too? Someone once lectured me about drinking Diet Coke. “Do you know that it can remove rust? Imagine what it is doing to your body.” I was siked! I can drink it and clean with it? Sweet!  My husband has also said, “Think of how much money we can save!”  We could also save money by churning our own butter and making our own clothes.

I have never expressed a desire to make my own soda. Who am I kidding? We call it “pop” around these parts. Soda is pop. Lollipops are suckers. It doesn’t matter what you call it. I don’t want to make it.  I am hoping he keeps bringing up the Sodastream to throw me off his scent.  Perhaps he plans to buy me an awesome gift.   Honestly, I don’t really care if I get anything. I just don’t want a chore for Christmas.   (You can also return the vacuum, dishwasher, iron, broom, etc.) This whole thing reminds me of this Jim Gaffigan bit:

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