Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

A terrible, terrible thing is happening to me. It’s akin to changing my blood type or my eye color, or getting a new identity, or having a sex change. I think my body is starting to reject Diet Coke.


(Take a moment. I know, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around too.)


I’ve been a Diet Coke fan since it was born in 1982. This was the first can design from which I can remember drinking:

Memories.  Like the corners of my mind.

I had a brief fling with Fountain Mountain Dew from about 1988 through 1993, but eventually returned to my original love. I also gave up Diet Coke entirely during my first pregnancy, and drank limited amounts of it during pregnancies number two and three and while I was nursing. But the first thing I had after each baby? A Diet Coke and a very large Tylenol. And then a malt. And then a large pile of blow accompanied by a Neil Sedaka album. (Just kidding Mom. You know I can’t take Neil Sedaka.)

TANGENT ALERT:  I just typed "Images A Pile of Blow" on Google and the weirdest shit ever came up.  I couldn't even pick anything, my mind was so confused, particularly by the 'Reeses peanut butter cup in hair' image.  Might have to quit those now too.  And now back to our story....

I’m the kind of person who won’t have soda if the restaurant exclusively serves Diet Pepsi. Why would I give up the most delicious, refreshing drink in all the free world? Well, I’m going to be deliberately vague so as to not make you lose your cookies, but here goes.


A couple of weeks ago, Current Husband and I went on a little date and had dinner at Biaggi’s. I had the shrimp and crab cannelloni, because CH is allergic to shellfish, so since I don’t cook with it I try to order it when I’m out on the town. It was spectacularly delicious. CH thinks I got sick from the shellfish, I think I got rotavirus from someone. Let’s just say that something terrible has been happening in my colon. Something very, very terrible.


I try to stay away from the bathroom at work. I use it, but not unless I have to, and I restrict myself to #1 activities only. I go home for lunch if I have other business to do. I feel that it’s a favor to me and a courtesy to my co-workers. Let’s keep our biological issues as human beings as separate as possible. The Monday after Biaggi’s, I found myself unable to wait. Or drive. There was no time. NO. TIME. So The Bad Things happened. As I was walking out of the bathroom, another female co-worker, whom I like, was approaching the door. As she put her hand on the knob, I put my hand on her arm.


ME: “Don’t.”
HER: “What?”
ME: “As a friend, I’m telling you not to go in there.”
HER: (smiling but flustered) “But I’m just rinsing out my coffee cup.”
ME: “Not in there, you aren’t. Don’t pass that door for at least an hour.”
HER: (Laughing as I’m leading her to another sink) “You must have what R had last week!”
ME: “Was R sick?”
HER: “I’m not sure, but I know she alternated bathrooms and advised I go at home.”
ME: “Ditto.”


Anyone with a uterus knows that women just don't talk about these things.  But at that moment, I was going to lose her respect in one of two ways - either let her keep walking through the door and into my Cloud of Shame, or to stop her from walking in and admit I have a cranky colon.  I like her, so I chose Option #2 (no pun intended).  And I’m going on Week 2.


I’m finding that The Bad Things happen soon after I drink Diet Coke, and I’ve even been finding that lately Diet Coke doesn’t taste as good. I’ve been on Web MD researching. I’ve tried to eat healthier (okay, not really, but I’ve INTENDED to, which is similar). I’ve texted a friend for the name of her probiotic (Florastor). I have NOT cut back on coffee. I have not given up Pinot Grigio. I have a lot of work to do.


I’m sorry Diet Coke, but I think we’re going to need to take a Ross and Rachel Break. In the words of Neil Sedaka, Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.  Time to do some blow and have a malt.  But not a baby.  (Thanks again, Essure!)