By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
McDonald’s Diet Coke for free?!? Best day ever!
There are very few things in life that I simply cannot live without. Though the years, I’ve learned to get by – and deal with – whatever comes my way. Sure, I have preferences, but they are not necessarily deal killers.
I prefer to not exist in a Texas summer without air conditioning, but I’ve done it. Did it for years growing up at the ranch and at Mawmaw’s house. Now I don’t prefer that particular existence, but I can do it.
I prefer not to cook. It’s just not in my wheelhouse. I have to think too hard to do it. I don’t have a natural culinary sense, but I can do it and will as necessity dictates. Of course, my list of necessities has dwindled through the years. I like that.
I prefer not to handle fleet maintenance. I believe with all of my heart that is a gender specific responsibility, and I am not of the responsible gender. But I can – and have – done it, including airing up a tire a few short weeks ago, taking a truck in for repair and hooking said truck up to a battery charger. Not my favorite things, but alas, tasks I can accomplish if push comes to shove.
There is one, shall we say vice, that transcends my ability to do without, even though I have given it up twice in my lifetime. For the sake of my unborn children, I gave up the nectar of the Gods for over eight months. It was beyond painful, mostly for Mr. Kaminski.
I was incapable of BS during my dry spell, and on the daily, I was confronted with none other than constant, brutal BS. The tongue lashings were legendary.
Agitation was my state, and the weight gain, swelling and consistent state of overheating didn’t help. And worst of all, there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing to quench my state. I couldn’t reach out to my constant companion and imbibe to soothe my soul. It was a M. Night Shyamalan production.
Upon delivery of my precious babies, I had but one request. “Make certain I have a cooler filled with ice cold Diet Coke in my room,” I informed Mr. Kaminski. He could not make that purchase fast enough, as he was on the months long receiving end of my angst.
Over the years, I’ve received much grief over my preference for the bubbly burn. I could care less. Just this week, I received a text from a friend who is also a doctor, a real live medical professional. It read: “Diet Coke is 99% water. Also aspartame, but only 185 mg. You’d have to drink 18+ cans to exceed the FDA daily intake-meaning the amount you’re drinking now makes you more likely to meet your daily water goal than pickle your insides. In conclusion, don’t regret that diet soda. Be proud that you’re drinking water.”
That’s medical advice that I follow. I start each day with my true love, no coffee for this girl, and now I know that it’s good for me. Many mornings, I would swing through McDonald’s to grab my preferred beverage after dropping the kids off or heading to a meeting. There’s just nothing better than their version of the quality cola.
I personally believe that Mickey D’s should offer an exclusive lane dedicated to the “Large Diet Coke” afficionados. Let the foodies have their own lane. We deserve our own efficient lane dedicated to quenching our thirst and making our day better.
This suggestion came full circle just the other day. I had a mere 15 minutes before my pedicure appointment, so you know I had to make good use of that time. I did what any efficient, errand-running female would do: I pulled into McDonald’s to grab a large DC to get me through the next hour.
The line was crazy long, and I was on a timeline. I wheeled into a parking spot and walked briskly indoors. Always good to get my steps in.
I was confronted with kiosks asking me multiple questions. I did not want multiple things; I wanted one thing. Therefore, I did not participate in the arduous electronic process. I patiently waited in line while folks handed over their printed kiosk orders, paid their bill and collected their goods. When it became my turn, I politely said, “I would like a large Diet Coke please.” I removed $3 from my purse to pay my bill.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the McDonald’s employee, that precious child of God. “Have a great day!” She handed me a cup with a smile, and that was that.
Of course, I thanked her profusely as she just made my day. She got me. See y’all next week – on the porch – or at McDonald’s!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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