I Got Your Lemonade

"e'erybody in the club getting thirsty"

posted by Jesse

A few weeks ago, DJ wrote a nice post about some uncle she claimed to be me, though I’m not sure I fit parts of the description. Mainly the part when she refers to me as “middle-aged”. One part she definitely got right is that we like to mess with each other.

At Lisa’s funeral, one of the speakers was a long-time church member who had married an english teacher at our high school. Lisa happened to be in one of the teacher’s classes at Broughton at the time the pair were dating, and knew the speaker as a Sunday School teacher and youth advisor at church. He told the story of how, at Valentine’s Day, she bought a carnation through the school sale, had it sent to her teacher and signed it as from her church youth advisor. The speaker pointed out he thought the relationship was going well anyway, but Lisa’s prank must not have strained things too much because they ended up together!

So when I hear about DJ collecting money to get a life-size cardboard cutout of one of her favorite teachers made, naturally I think of her Mom. Lisa was good at a little mischief–the kind that spices up the ordinary routine of life, but rarely nears the point of real rule-breaking.

DJ must have been looking to spice up a boring day of baby-sitting her sister and a couple of their friends a few weeks back because I got a text from her that read:

“Yo! We’re drinking your lemonade….mmmmm….it is good!”

It should be noted that I have a favorite lemonade drink mix–Country Time Strawberry Lemonade–that I try to consume more of so I’ll drink less soda. Since I willfully graze on any meals, snacks, drinks, and candy piles that are too big to notice one piece missing at the Tanner house, I make clear that folks are welcome to share in anything I put in the fridge. But I get the feeling that Danny doubles back behind me and tells the girls not to drink my lemonade, because they always treat it as if it’s sacred or something.

Unless DJ gets bored baby-sitting.

I played along and texted back, “Nooooooo!”

She went on to gush in 160-character messages about how great the lemonade was and how regrettable it was that I couldn’t be on hand to stop the free flow of pink goodness from the pitcher that was taking place.

I pretended to be ticked. Then, via text, I received the photo you see at the top of the post, just to drive home the level of consumption of my lemonade.

Ok, perhaps the next day when I got done playing basketball and was forced to quench my thirst with, ugh, water I was slightly less amused. But I’ve got a Star Wars light saber whose only functionality is to serve as something DJ can steal from my room so that whenever I notice it’s missing I can wax indignant and stomp around her room looking for it. How much fun is that?

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