A young woman sits down at her desk with a thud. She glares at her drink and a small growl escapes her lips. Her cat, sleeping in the sunlight, lifts his head when he hears her and stares for a moment before going back to sleep. Images of strong women flash through her mind. She clenches her jaw and opens her laptop.
Logging into her blog, she smiles with determination. She checks her messages - none. She checks her activity - a friend liked a picture of her cat and a few people reblogged a post she made about a guy at the grocery store who looked at her with what she referred to as “hungry, misogynistic eyes.”
She begins typing.
"Coca-Cola thinks it has a right to tell women what to do. The idea that I have a soulmate and that I need to share my drink with them is appalling. I don’t need to share anything with anyone. This is my drink, my body, my life. I don’t need a soulmate. It’s disgusting and indicative of Coca-Cola’s desire to oppress people. I have to, in order to enjoy this drink, have a soulmate. Or a friend named James. Or a dad. Who does Coca-Cola think they-" she stops typing.
"Hey honey," her father says from the doorway. "Dinner’s gunna be ready in about five minutes so finish up your homework and come eat." He turns to leave but turns back to add, "By the way, your brother invited Jimmy over. He’s gunna eat with us."
A cold sweat breaks out over her entire body. Why is Jimmy here? Why didn’t her brother warn her? Her heart races. She closes her laptop and applies a bit of lip gloss and fixes her hair. She checks her breath before leaving her room, trying to hide her giddiness. She hopes that maybe this time, Jimmy will sit next to her. As she leaves, she looks back at the can. The words “Share a Coke with your Soulmate” stare at her. She smiles hopefully.
This is some absolute drivel I’ll never get these minutes back.