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Fiction: Where’s My Theme Song?

“Pop, pop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is!”

No, that’s not right.

“I’d like to teach the world to sing…I’d like to buy the world a…”

Nope. I’m still getting this wrong.

“It’s Miller time!”

Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. The pop. The fizz. That cold sigh as the top releases, and you know you’re about to drink a cold one. That’s what I do. My whole purpose is to make thirsty people, hot people, even (some) desperate people as happy as possible.

I produce the happiest sound ever heard by most adults of a certain age. Not the glug-glug of greedy slurping. Not the clink as the glass slams down on the table. Not even the satisified, “Ahhhhh” after a long swig.

Nope. I have a better job than that. I’m the reason for the satisfying crack when a seal breaks. I’m the reason your hand doesn’t sting. When you’re struggling to make those┬ámanly hands work, I get the job done in one smooth move.

Yeah, I’m the best. I know it. It’s not bragging if it’s true.

And when you’re covered in sweat, with a tongue like sandpaper, and clothes sticking to every inch of you, I’m your best friend. You need me. You’re desperate for me. You’d do anything for me.

Wouldn’t you? You know you would. If I’m not around, you can’t have what you want. And I think that deserves it’s own theme song. Something that shows how much you love me, want me, need me.

Maybe something like this…

You know you love me. And why shouldn’t you?

I’m your trusty bottle opener.

Available on Etsy – the bottle opener with an ego bigger than itself but that always gets the job done. It’s not bragging if it’s true, right?

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