My Pink Cup

I love my pink cup. It has been with me for most of my life. I received it in 1991 (frighteningly specific photographic memory, I know) as a party favor at my friend Meredith's 8th birthday party. The party was held at the Shoreview Community Center in Minnesota, which had recently put in a waterpark that was all the rage among my peers in the early 90s. Since then, my cup has seen me through a lot. You can bet it has some stories to tell.

The day I received my pink cup, a dozen or so little girls and I were playing in the aforementioned waterpark. I, being the brazen person that I am, fearlessly went down the largest waterslide in the park, screaming with delight as I sped around the sharp curves, finally reaching the end of the slide. Seconds later, I found myself underwater, and suddenly everything went black. In a freak turn of events, I had slipped underneath the current of the slide as I splashed into the pool. I quickly became too disoriented to swim out of it and lost consciousness. A lifeguard spotted me in peril, and pulled me out. Thankfully, I was not harmed, and no lasting damage was done. I walked out of that party with my prized pink cup. Along with a piece of paper stating that I could not swim in the Shoreview Community Center pool again for three years, for liability reasons. But at least I had the cup.

On family movie night when I was a kid, I gulped Tahitian Treat from that cup (soooo much sugar). While cramming for my ACTs, I consumed copious amounts of Mountain Dew from that cup in an effort to function on little to no sleep. The day before I had major surgery, I drank my surgery prep medicine mixed with Crystal Light from that cup (good times). The morning after the infamous night I slammed way too many tequila shots my junior year of college, I attempted to sip and keep down water from that cup. The first time I held hands with the love of my life, I came back to my dorm room afterwards giggly and smiling, and had a bedtime drink from that cup. It has traveled with me across the country, from Minnesota to Ohio to California. It has outlived many pricier glass cups, and the endless parade of free plastic Cousin Vinny's Pizza cups we accumulated when we were living in Dayton. Ironically, my pink cup lived to see me marry a former top collegiate swimmer, who could save me from any waterslide-related foes I may ever face in the future. It is always comforting to sit down with my family, watch some TV or just talk, and sip a favorite beverage from my pink cup.

My sister who is currently visiting was shocked to see the pink cup still thriving. She's right to be surprised, it is old and cracked, and probably leeching chemicals that will someday give me cancer. Nevertheless, it is my own twisted version of a binky, and I won't get rid of it until it breaks into pieces. Even then, I'll probably try to super glue it back together. In the military world, home is wherever your loved ones are (and wherever Uncle Sam damn well says it is). In my case, it is also wherever my pink cup resides.