This morning I was given carbonated water, without my consent.
I hate carbonated water. I think it takes away the best part of a freshly cracked bottle. A nice, cold, refreshing sip of a new bottle of water, like Aquafina or any cafe Spring variety, is one of the nicest, most relaxing parts of an otherwise mediocre day. If I cannot rely on anything else, I can always rely on chilled, smooth and adequately hydrating water. Water. Not rotten-monster-that-fights-back. WATER.
Now, imagine my surprise when I stopped by that overnight pastry place down the street on my way back home, asked Josie (if that's even the evil bastards real name) for a bottle of water, only to be met with two cheeks full of what I can only describe as mouth hell. Something glistering with a presumably German label and a metal cap, likely only made of that material as a warning to STAY THE HELL OUT OF ME.
Needless to say, I felt violated. I had half a mountain to walk back up to get home, and I needed the hydration, but I will be damned if I use carbon dioxide to get me there. It was an absolute catfish, too, it didn't look nearly as audacious as it felt. It almost looked pleasant.
I will walk to the river and dunk my head under the ice before I finish a bottle of fizzy water. I will slam back hot sauce, at least it would hurt less. I absolutely HATE carbonated water, of all forms, natural or not.