A Cross-Cultural Experience

My Balding Bro and his Gentle Wife and Darling Daughter are moving to our neck of the woods in a couple weeks. (Yippee!) They are in the thros of packing and getting rid of stuff. They gave each of our kids a bag of doo-dads (excuse me, treasures), and Mr. Handsome and I even received our own little bag. We got: a can of Spam, a huge Rubbermaid spatula, a stale, giant-size marshmallow burger, and a can of Coke from Iraq. I was pretty excited about the Coke. Just the night before, while weeding the beans, I was fussing to Mr. Handsome about how I craved a Coke and Doritos. We even lightly toyed with the idea of running over to The Glen to the little store there.

My Balding Bro did not go to Iraq to get the Coke. I believe it came from one of his students whose father is in Iraq. Anyway, I was very intrigued by it.

Look how small it is. I think we would all be better off if they sold sodas in such small cans.

Here, you wanna see the nutrition label?

Mid-afternoon, after chilling the Coke for a couple hours, I decided it was time to imbibe. When I tried to open it, there was an exploding sound and the tab popped off. The Coke would only drip out.

So I took my rolling pin to it.

The can flipped over and a bunch of Coke fizzed down the drain.

It still only came out in a slow trickle.

But it sure was refreshing.

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