DLand - Baby, I'm Miss Tropicana - Your Minute Maid

Jeremy: (hunting for C batteries to rob and put in our new card shuffler) "I don't think we have any C's. We don't have anything with C's in them." Me: "My shirt?"

Jeremy: (looking through boxes and bookcases) "Uh huh, we don't have anything with four C's in them."

Me: "Oh, now you're getting kinky."

So at Capt. Colin's suggestion I've decided to tell you all the orange juice story. It's from a while ago but it came up at Crusades as well.

Now, let's go back to about 1996. Sweetpea and I are not even married yet, but living in sin in our cozy little apartment in Blacksburg. We owned (and still do) this vintage queen size waterbed. Jeremy acquired it from a man by the name of Pushkar in trade for driving fence posts at his farm.

Well the waterbed, being the retro style that it is, has those neat little cabinets and shelves and cubbies. Handy little things. We use them to store our books and earrings and glasses etc. Well, I had decided that I wanted to drink on some O.J. before hitting the hay. I brought a 10 oz. glass of homestyle orange juice (the extra pulpy stuff) to bed with me and set it in said aforementioned cubbie. Well, I start reading and talking to Sweetpea and forget about this orange juice. This, dear readers, is the one piece of the story that is my fault. Cherish it, because it's only this one thing.

Well, we go to bed and suddenly about 3am I wake up cold, wet, sticky and very grumpy. You see, my love, has a habit of being an active sleeper. So he will open the cabinets in the night and shove his arms in the cubbies. Well, this night in his tossing and turning he ran his hand along the head of the bed, into my cubbie, and behind the 10 oz. of cold, extra pulpy orange juice that perched above my head. You can see it coming. The orange juice glass tipped over and dumped all of its contents onto me while I was peacefully sleeping below it. I went from asleep to fist-swinging awake in under two seconds.

Now, fellas, this is not a turn on. Don't think you can use this like whipped cream or chocolate and lick the orange juice off your mate. Because she's just gonna be pissed. Sweetpea was still fast asleep until he was awakened to the tune of "Son of a bitch!" and me leaping out of bed. Did I mention that I had kinda longer hair then and was completely naked in the bed? So I was coated in orange juice. And my pillow was full of it. And my favorite blanket was covered. Sweetpeas side of the bed? Bone dry. We even had these nice Ralph Lauren polished cotton sheets so the orange juice pooled at about the small of my back and my ass instead of soaking into the sheets. I could have drowned had I tried.

Well, all the sheets had to come off the bed. And the pillows and the comforters. It's 3 am folks. Genie's very very cranky. Oh, and there's orange pulp in my hair. It's shower time. The whole time, Jeremy's just looking at me not really sure what to say. Any peep out of him was going to spur my wrath at being soaked in breakfast beverages. So he just sat in the chair in the bedroom in his underwear and perfectly pristine blanket while I stomped around the house. By the time I was out of the shower, I was laughing about it. But we still tease that his idea of foreplay is throwing juice on me.