The Aftermath of Diet Dr. Pepper

So Josh wakes me up this morning with, "Honey, I'm sorry to wake you but..." That can't be good! He knows how exhausted I am on Saturday mornings, and did I sleep well during the night? Well, those of you who know me best can answer that one! He goes on to tell me that he was putting some cans of Diet Dr. Pepper in the fridge and one slipped out of his hands and "blew up." He said "it was everywhere" in the way that someone might tell you "it's bad" after your 200 pound German Shepard has had his way with your family room sofa and you have yet to see the damage. Of course, I was in a sleepy haze so I was thinking, ok, mop the floor near the fridge, maybe have to wipe down the fridge...yes, I've also had experience with dropping a diet soda while restocking the refrigerator. It was then that I notice he's furiously pulling on slacks and tucking in his dress shirt. "I'm already late for work," he says, "and I don't have time to clean it up. I'm really sorry, but I had to change clothes."

Now my curiosity is whetted, so I roll out of bed, stumble into the bathroom, and put on my glasses. I didn't even bother to pull on pants because I was fervently hoping I could spend 5-10 minutes wiping up soda then go back to bed. Yeah, that didn't happen! So I go downstairs, sans pants (thank goodness the new neighbor hasn't moved in and his contractor hadn't shown up yet!), and I begin to see small splatters of diet soda on the floor in the hallway leading into the kitchen area. Near the island in the center of the kitchen I see the pool of dark liquid finding it's groove in the grout lines of the tile floor, slowly spreading outward in several directions. And like watching a detective in a movie coming upon a crime scene, I can almost hear the music begin to rise and I know the picture is about to cut abruptly from the expected evidence of the crime to the unexpected carnage that has certain audience members (like me) ready to cover their eyes. I can say my husband didn't exaggerate when he said, "It's everywhere."

Let's start with where it wasn't. It wasn't on the countertops, it wasn't on the area rug under our table. Thankfully, it wasn't on the ceiling! It was, however, all over the floor and the rug just in front of the fridge. The splatter stretched from ground-zero by the island all the way into the main hallway (that's about 6 or 7 feet one direction), into the butler's pantry and halfway to the garage (about the same distance in nearly the opposite direction), and along the tile near the cooktop (only about 3 or 4 feet opposite the hallway leading to the garage). It was all way up the refrigerator, on cabinets and drawers on the island and the perimeter of the kitchen. It was up the walls leading into either the main hallway or the smaller back hallway. It was all over the double ovens and the microwave (which is at the height of the top oven). And, it was all over Josh's shoes which I found removed near the sink. I later found his pants draped over the tub in our bathroom, and I have yet to know whether or not it reached his dress shirt and tie; after seeing the upward splatter all over the appliances I'd be amazed if it spared his torso.

So I set about cleaning, deciding I might as well mop the whole of the tile since I was going to be mopping at least 2/3 of it anyway. That meant I had to sweep, at least in areas where the floor wasn't tacky and wet. And by the time I complete the prep work and am ready to get down to business, I find that some very thoughtful ants have already arrived to offer their services. Bravely, those fine ants gave their lives as they later met the business end of my Libman Wonder Mop. I go to the sink to run water for mopping and come upon the corpse of a can of Diet Dr. Pepper; so unassuming, so ordinary, yet capable of so much more than quenching thirst. I notice the top end of the can is stretched upward as though it's contents engaged in mutiny, and the pop-top opening is a strange, not-quite-round "o" of protest where the offending liquid made its mad escape. Less than one quarter of the soda--apparently the only portion with any integrity--is left mingling in the bottom of this vessel of destruction. I'm ruthless. I drain the can and toss it in the recycling bin.

The kitchen having been mopped, I begin wiping down all the appliances and cabinet doors, cleaning the vent grooves around the microwave where drops of Diet Dr. Pepper gather and hide--still wearing only an old, oversized OCC t-shirt proclaiming commencement exercises I never participated in--and my underpants (sidenote, that word brings back memories of the movie Sixteen Candles. And by the way, don't dwell on the image I'm describing as it's really not one anyone should delight in!). I do my best with the detail work and decide I need Q-Tips to clean the rest. Nearly an hour passes between my unexpected wake-up call and initial assessment of the destruction to the time I find myself sweating, hungry, and in no way crawling back into bed.

Now that my work is done and I've cleaned myself up, I find the whole situation funny. I wish I hadn't been so sleepy as to not grab my camera. The pictures might have been boring, but worth a chuckle. I'm sorry Josh had to rush off to work feeling, perhaps, sheepish over what happened. I really would have enjoyed laughing over it with him. But since he's busy, here I am finishing the last of a bottle of vanilla frappucino and sharing my morning with all of you. Don't worry...I'm fully clothed now!