note to self:

Never again will I reach blindly into the fridge for juice.

At three o’clock in the morning after a random (but fun!) night out on the town, anything remotely orange in a plastic jug will look like my old breakfast favourite, oj. But carrot juice, unfortunately is not orange juice, and even more unfortunate that it is not Gatorade (for a split second I almost thought it was), even though it is orange, and it tastes even worse than regular, solid, a little on the grainy side carrots… which might be fine when you’re sober, but not when your mouth is dry and you’re tired, and thirsty, and cranky because your feet are sore, your hair is smokey, and all you want is a little sip of juice. Ah, the joys of living with health aficionados such as my dad.

Now I know I won’t be able to sleep… that carrot juice must have been expired or something. Which possibly might explain why it tasted like ASS, and not simply yucky carrots as one would presume. And thus I’ve had to amuse myself writing this little anecdote down for posterity. Also so that I should remember to go for plain old water next time. You can’t mess that up.

/end note