This can't be good.

We have juice with dinner on Sundays. Every other day of the week we drink water, because finances being what they are, it costs too ding dong much to have juice or punch every day, plus I don't think kids need to be in the habit of drinking sweet liquids with every meal, plus water is good for you and did you know that most people don't drink enough water, plus I don't need the calories, etc and so on and so forth. I always have good reasons for my tightwadishness, don't you know? So we have juice with dinner on Sundays.

Somehow (and this is a window into my rather shabby homemaking habits) the pitcher which contained the leftover juice did not get put into the fridge Sunday night. It sat, neglected and overlooked, on the counter overnight and into the next day. Monday afternoon I had a small glass of juice to help cover the oh-so-fishy taste of my shark cartilage pills. The juice tasted fine.

Lo and behold, Tuesday morning found the dad-gum pitcher still sitting on the counter! With an inch of juice left in it. I think I may need to have a word with the management around here. I decided to take things into my own hands. My intention was to just get the blasted thing off the counter. Really, I promise that's how it started. I poured the juice out into a small cup and tasted it. Hm. A little tangy. Quite a bit tangy, actually. But still far from being spoiled. And then my must-not-waste-anything neurosis won out over my this-might-be-fermented-and-don't-you-think-the-bishop-would-disapprove? better judgement.

I drank the juice. Not bad. Not bad at all. So I refilled the cup with the last of the juice and I drank that too.

Hm. No buzz. No tingly warm feeling. Sigh.

And then I sat down to read blogs and everything I read seemed funnier than the last thing and I began posting silly comments all over the blogosphere and actually published a post on my own blog about sex.

It was my best morning in a week. Maybe next Sunday I'll make a little extra juice...