Dear Lemonade & Raspberry Iced Tea,
How have you been? I'm sorry we haven't had much of a relationship the past 22 years. Our lack of contact is entirely my fault, and I accept that unfortunate burden. I was a fool. A blind, flavorless fool.
...and maybe a little bit prejudice.
Don't tell Raspberry Iced Tea, Lemonade, but I've never had a problem with you. In fact, I think I've always loved you. You, accompanying sunny childhood days, glistening in cheep-yet-sensible condensation-drenched plastic cups. While I frolicked under Mr. Sun's golden rays, you'd tease with your siren song, as if to beckon, "Drink up, little one. You cannot deny my tart, thirst-quenching powers." And I didn't: your lemony zest subdued my thirst & puckered my lips. You're all I ever wanted.
...and all I thought I'd ever need.
And then there's you, Raspberry Iced Tea. We grew up in different worlds: you being a Southern treat & me being a stubborn Yank. You're something I thought I knew so well: the best friend's cousin one knows all about but has never met...the preconceived notion of Paris in Springtime before ever crossing the Atlantic. Plainly put, I misjudged you, Raspberry Iced Tea.
...and I am sorry.
Mixing you together, Raspberry Iced Tea & Lemonade, is a celebration of life! A refreshing explosion of exuberant joy swimming, nay, dancing around my mouth! My teeth envy my tongue, for they experience your presence a few seconds longer. My days are not complete until you are mixed in a cheep-yet-industrial Top-American-Hotel-Destination paper cup. Sure, I sip you slowly, but I hate seeing you go. I hating having you leave. I need you to linger. I need you to live.
With the assistance of our mutual friend, Lemonade, a new bond has been forged. A friendship discovered. A love affair kindled.
I did not know pleasure until Bruce Palmer, Arnold's brother, entered my life.