I’ll never, ever, never fix Tang in a pitcher

So, I was on the phone talking with Eve. Actually she called for Cheryl, my wife, to coordinate the tickets for our February outing to the LA Opera (The Barber of Seville), but some how I ended up on the phone. So, I was on the phone talking with Eve. Actually she called for Cheryl, my wife, to coordinate the tickets for our February outing to the LA Opera (The Barber of Seville), but some how I ended up on the phone. I’ve never been to the opera. I told Cheryl I was down to go as long as it was a popular opera so when I was in the company of important White folks I could casually bring it up in conversation. Anyway.

Eve is engaged to Adam, one of my buddies from college and they’re getting married at the end of the month. It’s great to see another Christian couple join the game of marriage and Cheryl and I couldn’t be happier for them.

Eve shared with me what an adjustment it was moving all of her stuff over the weekend from her father’s house into Adam’s house. Adam made Eve purge and a lot of her junk got left behind. It was hard on Eve now having to share a new space with Adam and not without all of her stuff.

"That’s what being married is all about," I laughed.
"So what was one of the biggest adjustments you had to make after you and Cheryl got married?" inquired Eve.

"The Tang incident."

"Tang?! You mean like the drink?!"

"Yep," I told her, "I refused to make Tang in a pitcher."

So, I took Eve down good old memory lane, back to the origin of one of the biggest marital fights in Rance history.

Excalibur. The year was 1988. The place was the Ames Department store on Rhode Island Ave. N.E. in Washington, D.C. I was a freshman at Howard University then and during my first week of school I was in desperate need of dorm supplies. For those of you not familiar with Ames, it was like the ghetto Target, but ghettoer. What I loved most about Ames was the fact that it had everything a broke college student needed and on that particular day I was in search of…a plastic cup. Not just any plastic cup, but a real plastic cup, like the ones you used to drink from back in pre-school. You know the kind I’m talking about. They were made of that thick yet lightweight shatter proof plastic with the no slip grip. Its sides were frosted so you couldn’t see exactly what you were drinking, but at least you knew what color it was. I found it. It was beautiful. It was my Excalibur. There it sat on the shelf, all 44 ounces of minimum waged made Taiwanese clear plastic, just waiting for that special young man to come along, withdraw it, and take it to its pre-destined home. So I bought it.

If you know anything about dorm life, you know that when it comes to drinking, you’ve got to make due. My favorite drinks were the powdered kind. It didn’t matter whether it was Tang, Lipton Ice Tea, or Berry Blue Kool-Aid. You remember Berry Blue Kool-aid? That was the joint right there! Berry Blue went well with everything….even Everclear, too (sidebar Drew Hall first semester freshman year). But despite whatever I desired to drink, my trusted Excalibur was faithfully in my hand ready to serve me in my dire times of thirst.

As we all know, great legends never die. Not only did Excalibur get me through undergrad, but it stuck with me through my 20s and into my marriage. With Excalibur I knew exactly how many scoops of Tang (3) it took to get the taste just like I liked it. Excalibur knew how to gradually melt the ice so it wouldn’t spoil my Kool-Aid. When it came to washings, there wasn’t a sink, dishrag, or Maytag dishwasher he was afraid off. It goes without saying, Excalibur was very dear to me. And nobody, and I do mean nobody, never, ever, never dared to drink from him. That was until I met my wife.

During my first year of marriage I would mix up a powdered drink in Excalibur for myself while Cheryl would fix dinner and I wouldn’t think twice about it. This really pissed her off because she felt I should make enough drink fo

January 20, 2003
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