I’m not the healthiest person around but I do try to avoid foods that contain ingredients I can’t pronounce. So I was surprised the first time I found Crystal Light powder mix in our cupboard.

I scowled and gave Jordan a look that he interpreted as, “Why do you have death packets in our kitchen?”

He has never forgotten that look. And whenever he eats something that’s less than organic, he mimics my inner superiority complex and in his best toddler voice asks the very question I usually keep to myself:

“Why are you eating that crap?”

He answers himself with a very manly guttural response: “Because it goooood, that’s why.”

It’s not the most positive way to communicate, but as far as food goes it works for us.

Until last night.

A very hot night in Costa Rica.

We were sitting down to dinner and I was particularly warm because I had spent the previous half hour cooking over a hot stove. I felt gritty from sunscreen and smelly from sweat and I was really looking forward to a cool shower or a splash in the pool.

That’s when Jordan pulled out a 2-liter bottle of Crystal Light that he had mixed up earlier and stashed in the freezer.

The liquid had turned to slush and the bottle was dripping with cold sweat. I started salivating. Not only did I want a sip, I wanted to swim in the ice-cold waters of Aspartame while a waterfall of malic acid washed over me.

As he always does, Jordan saw that he held the object of my desire and he flaunted it, taking a drawn out swallow.

“Oooh, I see you’ve noticed my death juice and would like some,” he said taunting me. “Well, I’ll give you a sip but you have to earn it.”

He told me I had to say: “Crystal Light; that’s so disgusting.”

But he didn’t just say it in a normal voice. No. He contorted his face, stuck out his chin and used his Cinderella-step-sister-meets-Cartman-from-South-Park voice, so it sounded more like this:

“Cryyyyyyystaaal llliiiiiiiight, that’s sooooooo disgusting.”

I tried to do it. I did. But neither attempt met his expectations so I gave up.

Ten minutes later he relented. “Let’s try something else,” he said. “I want you to say, ‘Please may I have some nutritious delicious crystal light?’”

There were no funny voices or strings attached to this request so, even though I didn’t agree with the “nutritious” part I complied.

Satisfied at last, he placed the bottle on the table in front of me and said:

“You see Michelle, marriage is about compromise.”


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