Apples to Apples

I am parched. Not in a metaphorical sense. Literally. Thirsty. I’ve got a terrible case of cotton mouth and I’m getting a bit woozy from dehydration. Problem? No way because I went to the grocery store and planned for a situation just like this. I stock piled tasty concoctions to tempt my taste buds. Aka I bought some apple juice.

Said apple juice spent the afternoon cooling in the fridge to the satisfyingly chilly temperature that is appropriate for juices of the apple variety. I spent my commute dreaming of the adventure my juice and I would have. There are no silly roommates to drink my juice unbeknownst to me and my tastebuds. Just me and my juice. Sitting on my couch. Being hydrated. And tasty.

I practically bounced up my stairs to enjoy some dinner and a tall glass of juice. I frolicked into the kitchen straight to the cupboard to get a glass, grabbed the never-been-opened bottle of golden elixir, and twisted the cap, listening for that delightful snap of plastic that says ‘hey, I was meant for you. Here I am in, pure and untouched’. But that sound never came.

Try as I might, I cannot open that stupid bottle. It’s like a steel trap, taunting me from the countertop. My hand is red from failed attempts. I’m a bit sweaty as I sit on the floor of my kitchen, ashamed and even thirstier than I started.

My apartment is littered with attempts at independence, some more successful than others. There is the couch I paid for, the pictures I managed to hang and the small stain from the man-sized bug I killed amidst my squeals of disgust.

Smatterings of failures sit quietly in the nooks and crannies of my humble abode. There is the large mirror that requires some sort of pulley system to hoist it above my bed (not something I want to just guess at seeing as how failure equal decapitation…and I kinda like my head). My sink is more like a small lake, but since a cable auger sounds like some sort of foreign beer, I don’t think that one is happening anytime soon. And now, the apple juice bottle has joined the ranks of countless other inanimate objects that have thus far bested my adulthood.

It is at this point in the movie that some unassumingly attractive man would enter the scene, offering his services for only a glass of water. My sink clog of doom would then explode on him, requiring me to wash his shirt while he continued to untangle hairballs from the drain. He would be fit and incredibly witty...duh. Seeing my mirror sitting on the floor, he would pull a stud-finder from his back pocket and Macgyver the two ton monster to the wall. When I asked if he was thirsty, he would say ‘Ya know…apple juice sounds fantastic’. Since, I am so dainty he would come to my rescue, easily removing the cap that is more than likely welded together to enjoy its refreshing contents….

Oh wait…this isn’t a movie. I don’t need rescuing. I just need something sharp enough to stab a hole in the top of this apple juice jar.