There are some drinks you learn to love, there are some that you learn to avoid, and there are yet others whose undeniable deliciousness is overshadowed by the accompanying shame that comes along with drinking them.
The epitome of this type of drink, is Smirnoff Ice: A sugary sweet carbonated alcoholic candy, the taste of which more closely resembles soda pop than alcohol.
My first experimentations with Smirnoff Ice came in the my early days of drinking: in high school, when we would gather around bonfires in the woods and drink anything we could get our hands on. Smirnoff Ice, due to its sheer drinkability, tended to be a staple in our repertoire.
After a few too many nights like this, and my eventual entry into “adult” drinking, I deemed myself too proud and too sophisticated to indulge in the likes of Smirnoff Ice.
That is, until mid-college rolled around and the phenomenon of “Icing” gained popularity; (this consisted of surprising your friends with hidden bottles of Smirnoff that they were then compelled to drink on the spot) I once went to bed to find a bottle of Smirnoff hidden beneath my pillow. I had no choice but to pound it on the spot.
Nowadays, I don’t drink so much Smirnoff Ice. A couple of weeks ago, a friend and I were in a bodega and the novel idea to purchase them popped into our heads.
“Should we?” We giggled, embarrassed that the desire had even occurred. “Let’s do it.” We agreed apprehensively.
We stashed the relics of our immature pasts inside of our purses and snuck them into a movie theater, where we watched a very worldly art house film, with subtitles.
All the while, we attempted to convince ourselves that just because we like to drink something that was essentially created for sixteen-year-olds doesn’t mean we’re not grown-ups!