All sorts of cruel


 I have an obsession. It's called Dr. Pepper. 

I tried to give it up, but I failed miserably. 

I know how bad pop (soda, coke, whatever...) is for you. I know it. But I'm in this season where I'm looking past that, and enjoying every sip. *grin*

So the other night I asked Chris to stop on his way home and get me one. "No problem," he says.

I may have done a giddy little dance as he walked in the door. 

Sometimes that first sip is just what you need after a long, hard day. 
Know what I mean? 

Only, what if that sip is not Dr. Pepper. It's Root Beer

I grinned at my sweet hubby. If you know him at all, you know that is just like him. He got himself a root beer and left my Dr. Pepper just outside the door to tease me. HaHa. Funny. Ok, go open the door and get mine. 

Only it wasn't a joke. 

The dude at Wendy's seriously messed up.

(edit to clarify: there was NO Dr. Pepper for me)

I didn't believe it for a good solid twenty minutes. In part because Chris was just laughing, knowing that that's exactly the kind of joke he would pull. Only he didn't. 

Cruel, I tell you. Just cruel.

1 comment:

  1. I hate that feeling...I went to Arby's for lunch and asked for Dr. Pepper and when I took my first drink on the road it was def. Diet Pepsi.