Friday, February 6, 2009

Diet Coke

I think Meg Cabot stole my personality for her novels. Take this excerpt from Queen of Babble for example:
I notice a smaller bag behind the one containing the croissants and open it.
And my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
"Wha--" I gasp. I am, for only the second time in my life, speechless. "How--how did you know?"
"Chaz said something about it," Luke says.
I pull the six-pack--glistening with moisture--from the bag and stare at it.
"They're . . . they're still cold," I say wonderingly.
"Well," Luke says a little dryly, "yes. I know Sarlat looks old, but they do have refrigeration."
I know it's ridiculous. But my eyes have actually filled with tear. I do my best to blink them away. I don't want him to know that I'm crying for joy over the fact that he's given me a six-pack of diet Coke. Because I'm not. It's the gesture, not the beverage.
Except for me it would be all about the beverage.

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