Ah, lemonade. It’s my very most favoritest of all the ades. It’s better than lime, better than orange, even better than Gator. Lemonade kicks ade ass!
I just made a big pitcher of lemonade. My wife hates it when I do that. Not that she’s got anything against lemonade, per se; it’s just that she doesn’t like it quite as strong as I make it. She’s a delicate flower, after all. Beautiful, but fragile. Tender. And not so much into the puckery stuff.
(Hey, this is lemonade we’re talking about here. Don’t get all personal and shit. Focus, dude.)
Anyway, let’s just say that we have ‘creative differences’ over how our favorite lemony beverage should be prepared. Around our house, we ‘make da ade’ using that synthetic lemony-scented powdered crap that a lot of people use. My wife uses two scoops of the stuff per pitcher. Or, as she told me tonight, ‘really, one and a half‘. Isn’t that just adorable?
Me, I ain’t goin’ down like that. Scoops, schmoops. When I want lemonade, I don’t play around with that little plastic thingy in the can. I get out the bathroom scale, and dump that shit in by the pound. I don’t make ‘lemonade’, really — instead, I stir up a lemon sludge, muddy and murky and full of tart puckery goodness. If it’s not gritty and pasty, then it’s just not good ade. I want my lips puckered up so far that I can taste my own uvula, dammit.
(What? Oh, like you’ve never tasted your uvula before. Don’t give me that look, dammit.)
Anyway, I’m a happy man right now. This is some damned good ade I’ve got going on. I won’t be able to yodel for a week. (Nor for several dozen years after that, if we’re at all lucky.) My wife’s decided to enjoy some, too. I’m having mine in a tall glass, ‘neat’; she’s going to dilute hers just a bit before she digs in. It looks like she’s got an eyedropper full of lemonade, and she’s heading for the bathtub upstairs with some ice cubes and a straw. Well, more power to her. And lemonade all ’round! Drink up, people — this is good shit!Permalink | 6 Comments