A while back, the Mild Fiancée and I got some take out. I honestly don't even remember what kind of food we got for that meal, but I remember that we didn't make it at home. The reason I remember this is that the meal came with a drink. Specifically, it came with one of those Hawaiian Sun juice things. It came in a bright red can, so I suspect it was the Strawberry Guava Nectar flavor.
Since I linked to the actual nutritional facts for that particular beverage, you can see just how much sugar is in that can. To give you some idea of what that really means, a normal person who consumes a 2,000 calorie diet is supposed to consume between 225 and 325 grams of carbohydrates (according to the Mayo Clinic). For a healthy adult, that basically means that the can is about one eighth of your total daily intake of carbs. Mind you, diabetes runs in my family, so I have to be extra careful about how much sugar I consume. Basically, I can't have eight of these things in a single day. My pancreas might explode.
The Mild Fiancée knows all of this, so I was not allowed to drink the contents of this can when we got home. I forget what the actual words were, but they were something to the effect of, "I'm afraid of what would happen." I laughed about it, and we put the can in the fridge. I then proceeded to forget all about it.
Well, we don't really throw things out from the fridge unless they're flat out rotten, so the can sat in the fridge for a while (this is the same household that has immigrant grapefruit competitions, remember?). A while later, I was thirsty, so I rummaged through the fridge for something to drink. I spotted the can, so I figured I'd finally consume it. The Mild Fiancée, however, suggested that I should not tempt my pancreas to explode. Even if it meant being a good immigrant about the juice. Ultimately, I found the argument persuasive, so I decided to drink something else.
Given that particular exchange, I actually figured we'd end up throwing out the can. I wasn't going to drink it, and the Mild Fiancée was kind of scared of the juice. That didn't exactly leave many options. So, I just figured it was a matter of biding our time until it was time to clear the fridge.
Then, one day, I came home, and I didn't see the can in the fridge. It's not like I was specifically looking for it, but the thing is bright red. You can usually spot it without trying. So, I'd grown very accustomed to the splash of red livening up the insides of our fridge. On this particular day, however, I didn't see it. Immediately curiously, I looked through the rest of the fridge to see if it had simply been moved. That was unlikely, but possible. No, it wasn't in the fridge.
Closing the fridge, I then spotted the tell-tale splash of red ... in the recycling. Hold on, how'd it get there? When she got home, I asked the Mild Fiancée about it. She responded with a nonchalant, "I wanted something sweet, so I drank it."
Whoa, whoa, whoa. She drank the juice? The same stuff that might theoretically cause my pancreas to self-combust? Really?
Yes, really.
I couldn't help but laugh. The can had been there all this time, lasted for so long. Ultimately, it was done in by a simple sweet tooth. And, for the record, my pancreas is intact.
Since I linked to the actual nutritional facts for that particular beverage, you can see just how much sugar is in that can. To give you some idea of what that really means, a normal person who consumes a 2,000 calorie diet is supposed to consume between 225 and 325 grams of carbohydrates (according to the Mayo Clinic). For a healthy adult, that basically means that the can is about one eighth of your total daily intake of carbs. Mind you, diabetes runs in my family, so I have to be extra careful about how much sugar I consume. Basically, I can't have eight of these things in a single day. My pancreas might explode.
The Mild Fiancée knows all of this, so I was not allowed to drink the contents of this can when we got home. I forget what the actual words were, but they were something to the effect of, "I'm afraid of what would happen." I laughed about it, and we put the can in the fridge. I then proceeded to forget all about it.
Well, we don't really throw things out from the fridge unless they're flat out rotten, so the can sat in the fridge for a while (this is the same household that has immigrant grapefruit competitions, remember?). A while later, I was thirsty, so I rummaged through the fridge for something to drink. I spotted the can, so I figured I'd finally consume it. The Mild Fiancée, however, suggested that I should not tempt my pancreas to explode. Even if it meant being a good immigrant about the juice. Ultimately, I found the argument persuasive, so I decided to drink something else.
Given that particular exchange, I actually figured we'd end up throwing out the can. I wasn't going to drink it, and the Mild Fiancée was kind of scared of the juice. That didn't exactly leave many options. So, I just figured it was a matter of biding our time until it was time to clear the fridge.
Then, one day, I came home, and I didn't see the can in the fridge. It's not like I was specifically looking for it, but the thing is bright red. You can usually spot it without trying. So, I'd grown very accustomed to the splash of red livening up the insides of our fridge. On this particular day, however, I didn't see it. Immediately curiously, I looked through the rest of the fridge to see if it had simply been moved. That was unlikely, but possible. No, it wasn't in the fridge.
Closing the fridge, I then spotted the tell-tale splash of red ... in the recycling. Hold on, how'd it get there? When she got home, I asked the Mild Fiancée about it. She responded with a nonchalant, "I wanted something sweet, so I drank it."
Whoa, whoa, whoa. She drank the juice? The same stuff that might theoretically cause my pancreas to self-combust? Really?
Yes, really.
I couldn't help but laugh. The can had been there all this time, lasted for so long. Ultimately, it was done in by a simple sweet tooth. And, for the record, my pancreas is intact.
Comments
Post a Comment