Bomp Pop Summers.
Most days, it's like I'm still the six year old version of myself playing dress up while trying to convince everyone I deserve to have my amazing job and the people who answer to friend. It's like if I can just wear my poker face and keep the magic of shooting stars, an obsession with bomb pops, and my really awkward sense of humor in check no one will know the difference. I can't be the only twenty-something who questions, "am I old enough to be doing this?" at least once a week, right?
Sigh. I'm a mess, probably. As much as I wish I could hide my abstract-randomness, I can only tone it down on occasion. Summer is here and the drought is rearing it's ugly head. What's a girl to do after a long day of work? Dinner with friends, of course.
So imagine my surprise when three little words caught me by surprise: Bomb Pop Margarita. Isn't it funny how when we age there are a few things that stick with us? We're older, yet some things are so intertwined into our being that they become the fiber of our lives. We suit up for work, worry about budgets, write things down before we forget - yet, we still hold on, tightly, to those really good moments.
Sometimes, on a really good day, something from our childhood makes an appearance in an adult-friendly form.
The moment this margarita was on the table it all of its red, white and blue deliciousness I realized I was being rewarded for being an adult. Making decisions, following my heart and using my head. I was being rewarded with a favorite from my childhood.
Rewarded? Ha. Probably not, but that's what I told myself.