Water Bottle

I heard once that in order to calculate how much water you should be drinking each day, you take your weight in pounds, then divide the number in half, replace the word “pounds” with “ounces,” and there you are. So, for example, since my weight is about 160 pounds, my daily water intake should be 80 ounces because 160 ÷ 2 = 80. 

I appreciate how specific that formula is. I never liked the old eight-glasses-a-day rule for water. It was never made clear to me whether we were talking about teacups or Big Gulps.

At the same time, I have to admit that I rarely, if ever, hit the 80-ounce mark. That would mean filling up and draining my 32-ounce, stainless steel–lined yellow Hydro Flask 2.5 times every single day. And sometimes, I don’t even manage to finish it off once. 

For me, drinking more water is one of those everyday failed resolutions—the little vows to improve that I constantly make and just as constantly break. Going to bed at an earlier time, visiting the gym religiously, and cooking all of my own meals fall into the same category. Hardly ever does a day go by when I don’t promise myself to take those steps. And yet I don’t take those steps. 

I guess things will just continue like that, oscillating between good intentions and nonexistent carry-through, on and on till death. Presumably from dehydration.

Then again, my consumption of fizzy water should help make up some of the difference. Fizzy water is still water, right?

I started drinking seltzer as a replacement for diet soda when I gave that up several years ago. There—a resolution I’ve kept!

Actually, I have taken sips from Diet Cokes belonging to my spouse a time or two since the Great Soda Renunciation of 2012, but I didn’t enjoy the experience. Now that I’m off the stuff, Diet Coke tastes to me like a cocktail of battery acid and Sweet’N Low. 

Which just goes to illustrate what I have always maintained: that a big part of adulthood involves becoming accustomed to and then dependent on liquids you wanted to spit out the first time they crossed your lips—an ironclad law of nature that holds true with Diet Coke, coffee, beer, wine, spirits, and cum. 

As it happens, my husband and I are locked in a longstanding water dispute. The bone of contention: He thinks it’s totally fine to pour a glass of water from the Brita pitcher, then return the pitcher to the refrigerator with a tiny amount of water remaining. Whereas I, on the other hand, am a decent human being. 

I used to think that these types of marital arguments over things like refrigerator etiquette or towel folding or the proper way to hang a toilet paper roll were trite and that those who complained of such things were nitpicky and boring. 

But then I got married and encountered towels folded in quarters, toilet paper leaving the underside of the roll, and a frosty yet near-empty Brita pitcher in my own home, and those all now seem like reasonable grounds for divorce. 

Maybe I don’t drink 80 ounces of water because when I go to the fridge for a refill, there’s often only half an ounce in the water pitcher.

It’s a wonder I don’t drink more ounces of whiskey. 

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