I love water. I especially crave it at midnight. Waking up from a dead sleep with a dry tongue and reaching for a cold glass of agua is complete euphoria. It feels like the whole thing goes down in one gulp.
When I was little, maybe five, I would constantly awaken from my kindergarten dreams with a mouth as dry as dust. I'd slither out of my sweaty comforter and reach for salvation, courtesy of my pink plastic water cup. However, one dark and scary night, I discovered I was grasping at air. No bedside H2O was to be found by my fat little fingers. There was only one way to fix this:
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