A great memory dies at the hands of impulse control

On my evening commute, when the light’s right, or the traffic level is similar, or something—never been able to determine exactly what—I’m reminded of something I almost did a couple of years ago and now wish I had.  I remembered it tonight.

I had a fierce headache.  I had taken some aspirin before I left work, and had picked up a Pepsi One to slam for the caffeine’s analgesic-enhancing effect.

(Alas, the stench of death is upon Pepsi One.  Availability has dwindled dramatically, and there seems to be no advertising support for it anymore.  Finally, it’s tough to see what it has to do, with Pepsi Max in the lineup.  I expect it to be discontinued anytime now.  Too bad, because it’s a tasty diet cola.)

By the way, it also produces enormous belches.

So this particular night, I had just taken the twelve ounces in about three swallows, and the rumble started.  By the time the light turned green, it was ready.  And I just almost leaned out the window as far as I could to the car next to me and let it rip on the young couple there.  It would have been a solid three or four seconds, with that gloriously guttural depth about it.

Instead, I stopped myself at the last second, its majesty perishing in restrained release and detectable only in my car.

I dare say they’d have told that story for years.

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