Thanks, Don't Mind if I Do

I need a paper bag to put over my head.

That's what I'll be wearing the next time I go to the ballpark to watch my son play baseball. Or a ski mask or a wig. Or some really black hair dye. Let me explain.

Last night, I plopped down on the top row of bleachers to watch my oldest take the field. Greg chose to stand, sipping on Diet Coke from a 12-ounce bottle. He eventually laid his drink on the bleachers, and I placed it by my feet so the bottle wouldn't get knocked over. A hot dog with mustard and relish later, I helped myself to Greg's safely-placed icy drink.

Fast-forward a good while later, the game had ended, and the man who had been standing to my left grabbed that bottle of soda and walked away. Not that I cared, and I was just about to tell him that he grabbed the wrong drink when he twisted the lid off and chugged the remaining calories.

OMG! Wrong drink...wrong drink...I was thinking, but I couldn't bring myself to utter a word. I told my sister what happened while watching the guy wipe his mouth and toss the bottle in the trash.

OMG.

I turned to tell Greg about the accidental mixup, when I realized he was holding his Diet Coke in his hand and was about to throw it away. Which means...

I HAD BEEN DRINKING THE OTHER GUY'S DRINK!

Did he see me? Shouldn't I know his name since we just shared a drink? I mean, people are walking around with masks on their faces to avoid the swine flu, and I've started a community drink club at the baseball park.

Figures.