Swapped Water Bottles
Have you ever watched a disaster slowly unfold in real time—like spotting a banana peel on the floor, locking eyes with it, and instead of removing it, you just nod knowingly and say, “Yeah, this is gonna be a problem”? You even say it out loud, maybe to the universe, maybe to your cat. But do you stop it? No. You let fate do its thing like you're the narrator of your own reality show.
Lately, there's been an ongoing debate. Not just here, not just in our home, but apparently across the country: “Do we spend too much time together?” Friends have asked. Coworkers have asked. Even strangers who overheard us debating about Fanta or Hi-C have asked.
And the answer? A firm, confident, absolutely unapologetic yes. But it’s the good kind of too much. Like cheese on nachos. Or sequins on a disco ball...not the sequins on Chantel’s disco shirt…that’s where I draw the line. We adore each other’s company, and one of our love languages is carpooling. Every morning, side by side, we head off to the same building, to the same office. It’s cute. It's convenient. It's also the setting of today’s tragedy.
As our loyal Taggies know, Chantel recently returned from LA and, in the name of hygiene, upgraded to a new water bottle—since her old one had become the population of a small germ nation. She chose her trusty Altezza Water Bottle from our Africa trip. A classic. A statement. The exact same model I was already using.
Cue dramatic music.
I, casually sipping from my identical bottle, looked at her selection and declared, “Oh yeah. This won’t be confusing at all.”
Day 1: Smooth sailing.
Day 2: A close call. I nearly snatched Chantel’s bottle but corrected course. Crisis averted. The tension builds.
Day 3: Disaster. Pure, unfiltered chaos.
It began innocently. Lunch was winding down. Chantel set her bottle on the counter to make tea. I placed my bottle on the counter while returning the lunch bag to the fridge. Without thinking, I grabbed what I thought was my bottle and began filling it.
Enter Chantel. Inspector General of Hydration Security. She examined her bottle with the intensity of a forensic scientist and declared, “This one is dirty. You must have grabbed mine.” I was sure I hadn’t. She was more sure I had.
The scene escalated quickly: he said - she said, panicked glances, and in the middle of it all, a coworker casually strolled through to stick his yogurt in the fridge—right as the great water bottle trial of 2025 hit its peak.
Guilt settled in. I had, indeed, mixed them up. And so, I filled up another water bottle in silent shame. Was it an accident? Or was it…a setup?
Maybe, just maybe, Chantel knew this would happen. Maybe she orchestrated the entire thing just to score a freshly filled bottle without having to fill it.
and to that, I tip my cap!