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i know someone who used to believe that fizzy mieral water came out of the ground fizzy!!
My mother drank alot of coffee, so I would ask her for some. She always told me coffee made you ugly! I have never drank coffee.
When I was 2nd-3rd grade, I use to believe that drinking Gatorade would turn your blood into the color of that drink. Drinking green Gatorade would turn your blood green, etc..
My mother used to tell me not to drink soda in the morning or I would get a stomach ache. I held this belief until I was in college and even told my girlfriend not to have her morning diet coke because of this.
I used to believe that if you drank a soda with your popcorn, your stomach would swell up and try to force it back out. Believed it for a while too. Now I know better.
As I child I always waited for the fizz to go down in my soft drinks before drinking them. But one day, in a fit of curiosity and bravery, I decided to drink my Coke sooner--only to find the bubbles never did go down, and the soda tasted funny too. For years I believed having the bubbles get stuck in the glass was the natural consequence of drinking your soda too soon, and was pretty close to adulthood when I realized I'd just gotten a soapy glass that day!
When I asked my sister why Mountain Dew was yellow she told me it was because it was made with Mountain Goat pee. Oddly enough, this thrilled me, because I liked goats, and I thought that drinking Mountain Dew would give me special powers to climb mountains and join them.
1977 was a very hot and dry year in Britain and it was then on day in summer that my Dad, who had been outin the garden for a while, convinced us that the lemonade left in the fridge was 'grown up' lemonade. We littleuns just had water.
I was about six years old and sitting in a doctor's waiting room while my mom was getting examined. I was the only kid among the waiting adults and so I went to the free coffee area and made myself a cup of java...believing that all the grown-ups would now think "Gee...he must be much older than we originally thought."
When I was lil, my babysitter made me some lemonade in a white-yellowish Tupperware bowl. I thought it was the same bowl that was at the bottom of my training toilet. I thought she was trying to poison me. It was a very hot day, but I still wouldn't drink it.
When my daughter was very young, (3 or 4 years old), she overheard her Father and I talking about a friend of ours and I said, "Well, you know, he doesn't drink!" My daughter wondered for many years after, how this person could live without ever drinking!
I used to think that orange squash was called 'sum' because when my mum would pour my brother a drink she would ask me 'Do you want sum?'
I used to believe, that robinsons tropical fruit juice,that is a horrible green was poison and I would never drink it when offered.
if you drink water from unsafe places, frogs will grow in your stomach...
I used to believe the man on the label of Tasters Choice coffee was Mr. Rogers from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. He DOES look like him!
When my brother was around seven or eight he developed a strange obsession with orange juice. At one stage he was drinking so much of it we began to get rather concerned. The truth was finally revealed one morning when my mum spotted him carefully examining a carton. 'Mum', he said. 'If I drink loads of long-life orange, do you think I'll have a REALLY long life?'
I was told by a friend that cherry cola was made from the bodies of red ants and consequently spent a good hour staring into a bottle of said drink to check if there were any in there. There was no indication of whether black ants contributed to Guiness or if lime cordial was the product of greenfly.
I used to think that 'Dilute to taste' meant that if you didn't add water you couldn't taste it. One day I downed a glass full of undiluted Ribena and realised my error.
I used to play a handheld video game on long road trips with my family. The only time that I was able to beat the game is when I was drinking mello-yello. So that soft drink had to be good luck for me.
Now who's to say that I outgrew it, at my wedding we had a fountain flowing that beautiful yellow nectar.
One of the saddest moments of my life, and the pivotal moment that ended my childhood innocence and started me on a life as a bitter cynic, occured the morning after one of my parent's parties.
It was early on a Sunday morning, probably in the fall of 1964 or 1965. There had been one of my parent's parties the night before. My father was an executive in a construction company, and often held parties to which he would invite clients and business friends. When my younger brother and I came downstairs to the family room in the finished basement, there was the usual collection of empty beer bottles, filled ash trays, rumpled paper napkins and such. Our parents were still asleep upstairs. We knew not to try to swig the leftover beer from the bottles (my brother had found a cigarette in one after the last party). I had always been fascinated by hard liquor, in particular by scotch. I had gotten the idea somewhere that scotch must taste like butterscotch. Perhaps I assumed that because of the evident gusto with which some of my father's friends drank the stuff. At any rate, I decided that this morning was the time to taste scotch for myself.
Taking the half-empty bottle from the ledge which served as a bar, I removed the cap and took a large drink directly from the bottle.
Of course, I immediately spit what was left in my mouth out across the room in a fine spray. The portion I had already swallowed was rapidly searing a path through-not down-my esophagus and boring a deep hole in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't breath, I couldn't talk. I could only choke and gasp, trying vainly to convey to my brother that I was in the process of dying.
When I could finally catch my breath and utter comprehensible sounds, I told my brother that "Dad must have put kerosine in this bottle!"
Well, that was it. The moment when I realized that childhood fanasies were just that-fantasies, with no basis in reality. Reality was sharp and bitter and stung and burned. Scotch did not, of course, taste at all like butterscotch. Grownups drank the stuff not because it tasted good, but for some other horrible, yet to be determined but undoubtedly evil, reason. So it would be for all my naive childhood perceptions. They would all have to be abandoned or at least re-evaluated in light of this painful new experience.