Okay, now that we’re alone, I have a question for you, readers.
In “Much Ado About Nothing”, Shakespeare called the constant skirmish of wits between Benedick and Beatrice a “merry war”.
I’m having a merry war right now with my friend, Kathy, except instead of words, we are using empty Diet Coke cans.
How did it start? Well, first I have to tell you that Kathy is always after me to recycle my Diet Coke cans. Sadly, I have quite the habit, consuming up to six Diet Cokes a day. And I do recycle them. Sometimes. If I remember. And if there is a convenient container around. Occasionally, though, I forget (or get lazy) and one of my empties makes its way into a trash can somewhere around the building where we both work. Inevitably (using what I can only presume is a latent superpower brought on by prolonged exposure to laminator fumes), Kathy finds it, digs it out of the trash, and confronts me with it, flourishing it beneath my nose like a bloody tee shirt at a murder trial. I look sheepish and contrite, she grins triumphantly, and she takes the can away to recycle it herself.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Which is why, this past Wednesday, on a lark, I decided that instead of throwing my empty can away, I’d place it directly in her teacher mailbox in the school office (you know, to make it easier for her to recycle.) Apparently she didn’t need a note to figure out who put it there.
Thursday afternoon, after work, I started to pull out of the parking lot in my car only to hear a raucous metallic clatter trailing after me that convinced me my muffler had fallen from its underpinnings and was dragging noisily across the asphalt. I got out to check and found a platoon of empty Diet Coke cans tied with string to my rear bumper, much to the enjoyment of the road construction worker having lunch on the bed of his truck a few feet away.
“Kathy!” I growled to the skies, clenching my fist in the air.
“Who’s Kathy?” Road Crew Guy asked around a kaleidoscopic mouthful of sandwich.
“A friend of mine,” I explained, shaking my head in amused exasperation as I untangled the trailing ends of string from where they were wound around my license plate screws.
He snorted, nearly choking on his bite of ham and cheese before he managed to get it down. “Are you sure she’s a friend?” he asked, still laughing.
As I drove away (can-free), I realized that I had two choices here. I could have a good chuckle and just let it go, OR….
So here’s my question, folks: What should I do next? It has to be safe, easy, and yield maximum irritation. And it has to involve Diet Coke cans.
What have you got?
Don’t be afraid to participate, people. Kathy’s not reading this. I promise. (Didn’t you see the title?)