I remember, back in my military days, when my training instructors would yell things like, “hydrate or die!” I remember how much I hate drinking plain water, preferring even the powdered drink mix found in my MREs (which are shelf stable for fifteen years), which had a tendacy to taste like flavored sand, to the taste of nothingness.
Fast forward to my current situation. I woke up this morning feeling as if somebody had dumped partially used cat litter in my mouth while I slept. You know, that sandy, dry, stinky, pasty, nastiness when you know you aren’t properly hydrated and you’re too lazy to get up and get a glass of water before bed. Apparently soda and sweet tea don’t do much to hydrate you. Bummer.
So, I toddled out into the living room this morning on my partially broken ankle looking like a hobbit with hemeriods and sat on the couch. My oldest child jumped in my lap and said, “Hey Daddy!” Knowing I had poop breath, I replied:
47 minutes later when she recoverd from the funk-enduced coma that my breath put her in, I finally went back to the bathroom to brush my dookie fangs. My toothbrush came to life, slapped me in the face, and returned to its holder. I guess nobody really wants a suicide mission at 8 am, household implements included.
I guess that’s the lighter side of dehydration.