An Open Letter to Tab Energy Drink

Darling, Where do I start? This has been a gradual seduction, this situation between you and I. I have had plenty of crushes in the past, even those on inanimate objects introduced to me by vehicles of mass communication. This thing with you began when, entrenched deep in my boob tube coma, a series of flickering images danced before my eyes--women in fabulous mini-dresses, boobs up to *here*, glossy pink lips, glossy pinkness everywhere in fact, slogans of independence, irreverence, kookiness, daring me to become who I am, especially as long as that "amness" purchases $2.10 cans of icky sweet carbonated "energy drink" goodness. Well, I finally caved. I found you today at the 7-11 near work. What I really wanted was a Diet Coke, my beverage of choice since the 8th grade, my wife in the world of thirst quenchers, the elixir I have depended on since forever to give me that much needed caffeine and carbonation boost while tricking my stomach into thinking it is full. Leaving the store, popping my iPod ear buds into place and pressing play (the song: the Cure's Just Like Heaven. An omen? Alas, not) I plucked a Parliament Light from its pack and cracked you open, eager to experience whatever was contained inside your fetching pink and silver container. Actually, lets pause for a moment to discuss your outfit. Given the fact that you market yourself as an "energy drink" your countenance is tall and slender, like Red Bull which seems to have set the sartorial standard for what beverages of your kind should wear, just like Britney Spears once established that pop stars need to wear hip slung denims and belly shirts. Like the vintage Tab cans of yesteryear, you are bright pink. In a playful nod towards being the next evolution of tab, you wear a sort of silver grid pattern. Written in the same font as traditional Tab, is your logo (Tab), that probably once looked futuristic but now seems exceedingly retro. You remind me of the latest incarnation of Madonna. Like her, you've adopted a late-70's early 80's aesthetic, moderately updated for the new millennium, and like Madonna this is a nod to the era in which you first sprung forth into our collective consciousness. Also like Madonna, I wholly preferred you the first time around.

Exhaling a drag of my Parliament I took a tentative swig. You are lightly carbonated. I swallowed and paused for a moment, considering your many layers of flavor, how you exploded on many different places on my tongue before leaving me with a highly acidic aftertaste. What is that main note? Bubble gum? You taste like Bazooka chewing gum with tons of lemon juice poured over it. Give it another chance I told myself. Not being able to decide if the flavor of Bazooka + lemon juice is a good thing or not, I quickly drank all of you down. It wasn't long before the pounding in my ears began, soon followed by a piercing pain directly above my right temple. Congratulations, Tab Energy drink. You have drained me of every good thought I have, my mind now spinning in ridiculous directions, consumed with the notion of you and only you as I furiously bang this letter to you out on my keyboard. Spell check? I don't think I have the attention span for it. Proof-reading? Ha, as if. Conducting that builder interview I promised myself I would do before calling it a week? Can you spell n-o w-a-y? You have ensnared me in your clutches. I will do all that I can to wrangle myself free. This fling was a short lived one but I am determined to escape in one piece. Needless to say, I am not at all hung up on you.