Juice cup

Several years ago Scott gave me a huge (and I mean huge), hideous drink cup. I think it was part of a birthday present. It's truly just unimagineably monstrous. Shocking pink, with a lurid beach scene and "Summer Fun" written on the side. It's a barrel with a handle attached to it, and military-grade drinking options on the lid. Then he promptly lost the receipt, so he couldn't return it. The thing has been rattling around the house ever since, mostly because it's so awful that we just can't get rid of it. We tried to pawn it off on my Coke-loving dad — the guy who has a stash of larger-than-life drink containers in his truck for every conceivable occasion — when he was taking off on a sightseeing trip around the northeast, but even he wouldn't take it. Said it wouldn't fit in a cupholder. (C'mon. Does this thing really need a cupholder? Is it likely to spill? I don't think so.)

Beth found it today. She's just figuring out "big" and "little" and gets a real kick out of noticing the difference between the two, so this was right up her little alley. She carted the cup around for a good portion of the afternoon, and then announced this evening that it was a "juice cup."

"I don't think so," I told her. Juice makes her completely hyper, even though what she drinks is, technically, half juice and half water. We're trying to limit her intake. This wasn't going to do the trick.

"Apple juice cup," she replied. Mom! What are you thinking? This would be a perfect apple juice cup!