As a child, soda and candy were taboo items in the houses of my parents and Marc’s. As a result, our house is always stocked with about 5 different kinds of candy and 4 kinds of soda. There’s also always either ice cream or some sort of baked good to boot. We both have admitted that whenever we prepare a soda or eat a piece of candy — especially at breakfast — the five-year-old within does a jaunty little happy dance.

So far, we’ve always lived within a two-minute drive from a Quik Trip. And this, my friends, is where the five-year-old trapped in Lisa’s body is secretly unleashed. Because I LOVE fountain soda. But not just any concoction will due. I love me a “Coke cocktail.” Basically this is 3/4 Diet Coke and 1/4 regular mixed in. (Still sweet but not all of the calories.) But lately I’ve favored a “Dew-ster cocktail”. This is 3/4 diet Mountain Dew with 1/4 Rooster Booster. Mmmmmm. Marc is very, very good at making my cocktails. I’ve often told him that bringing me a cocktail in the morning is better than sending me roses. And yes, I am serious.

When he hands it to me I often ask, “Did you make it with love?” And sometimes he’ll say, “No I made it with contempt.” And I’ll answer, “So that’s why its so tart.”

But more often, when I ask that silly question he’ll shoot me a look of mocked sheepishness and say, “Why yes….” And I’ll take a sip and say, “Taste alittle salty. You made it with the wrong love this time! Stop putting your penis in my damn soda.”

And then we laugh. This is why I love my hubby. Not only because he brings me sodas sometimes but we “get” each other’s sense of humor.

Lowbrow? Indeed. But we’ve never pretended to be anything more.