One evening, in October of 2003, I grabbed dinner before my class began. On that fateful night, I purchased a bottle of water, and began a long and faithful relationship. You see, this same plastic bottle has sat on my desk at work with me in the 10 months since then. I fill it with water thrice daily and repeatedly press my supple, pouting lips against its nozzle to receive the sweet nectar that my bottle so willingly releases into my mouth. It is the finest water bottle I have ever beheld.
I have named him Emerson.
Unfortunately, he has begun to deteriorate badly. The bottle is ribbed to provide a pleasant texture for the handler, but now some cracks have emerged, causing water to leak from the bottle from time to time. When this happens, I scold Emerson, but I can’t bring myself to discard him. He has been too good to me over the last year for me to simply abandon him when he begins to leak fluid onto my work papers.
Emerson also isn’t as clean as he used to be. There seems to be a brownish, slimy film coating him that often clings unpleasantly to my fingers. I can tell that Emerson is ashamed when this happens, so I often pretend not to notice. It’s not as easy to avoid noticing the discoloration in his once-white nozzle. He is now yellow with age and grime, and there is a noticably bitter tang when my quivering, anxious tongue delicately connects with his tip. I will often wince in revulsion when this occurs, though I try not to let Emerson see this. I don’t want to destroy his feelings.
Soon, Emerson will have to be put down. I don’t know if I can put up with this unpleasantness for much longer. I will always cherish our memories together, though. Other water bottles may come and go, but I doubt that any of them will have Emerson’s magic. It’s the intangables that make a relationship between a man and his watter bottle so special.
Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go have a nice big cry.
I have two water bottles that I rotate.. I named them Lake and Palmer..
we were meant to be it appears.
I use them and discard them like trash. I’m so callous that way.
you gotta let him go, man. you just gotta let go.
“press my supple, pouting lips against its nozzle”
never before have i wanted more to be that water bottle…
Yeah, Emerson’s a lucky guy…
I have an imitation Nalgene bottle that I named Poser
Peter, honestly, unless you thoroughly clean the bottle, you should only use a plastic bottle for a week before chucking it.
I’m in line with Roger. I can’t stand to drink from the same water bottle twice. Apparently i’m just unable to have a committed relationship.
I think it stems from my childhood when I would always choose a can of pop over water. The sugar high would make me tingle all over. Water just didn’t do it for me.
You people know nothing about love and committment. If you can’t stick with one water bottle how are you going to stick with one man or woman? Sure, you’ll enjoy a person for a little while, but after a few days you’ll move on to the next.
You are all so horible.
But Adam, it was so liberating…I didn’t have to know the bottle’s name, it was from a different bottling plant across town.
There’s something about the relationship that defies, age, race and social status…for that one time…
I believe that stuff on the outside is commonly refered to as “Monkey Butter”
http://www.findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1041/is_8_81/ai_105163668
I hope you wash your hands…?
Dear D.O.M.-
Any regular reader of this blog would know that the promise of fecal bacteria lurking in my water bottle would only encourage me even more.
Good day,
Todd: Nice job.
D.O.M.: I would like to rebut. That study was done in Canada. I rest my case.
I was only concerned for your well-being, Peter. However, I should have realized that you are only truly happy where fecal matter is involved. My mistake, and deepest apologies.
Jawoh: “Canada: They made a country and nobody came.”
you dont know what it is like to be thrown away. Not a second look. Nothing. Like they drain all that was in you then just move on. I have been used…. damn it… ahhhhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhh!!!
You know Peter, it doesn’t have to end this way!
I have found the perfect bottle retirement home. There is always at least one container of stuff in your fridge that you can’t identify, but are sure it is to important to throw out. The perfect material for Emerson to hold as he slowly slips into senility!
You could fill your waterbottle with corn. That way it wouldn’t leak unless there was a gaping hole in it. Problem solved.