There are many mysteries in life, and I have learned to be content with most of them. I understand that the ocean is deep, and so we may never have answers about things like giant squid or the missing Malaysian airplane. I understand that I'll never understand the male brain, and will have to live with many mysteries which stem from male brains interfering in my decidedly female life. And I even understand the need of some people to insert themselves into my consciousness and be so annoying that they drive me up the wall. I have a cure for that. It's called blocking on every form of social media known to 21st century girlkind. But there's one mystery which I shall never understand. The mystery which is called the Bloody Mary.
I'm not sure who woke up one morning and thought how great it would be to mix tomato juice and vodka together. I'm not sure who thought it would be great to stick a celery stalk in it. It could have been a depressed health nut from California. It could have been a nasty leftover from the mid century, when all of America's housewives were competing for the Campbell Soup Wife of the Year Award by creating horrendous side dishes primarily from aspic and canned pineapple. But whoever it was had a sense of humor, for the named it after one of England's greatest witches ever, Bloody Queen Mary. So we do know that the mysterious person was not a Catholic.
I'm not sure what first set me against tomato juice. My mom loved it, and did her best to inculcate a similar love in me. But four year olds aren't always rational, and almost certainly never think of things in terms of health. After the first sip I stubbornly set my mind against this devious red juice that looked like fruit juice but decidedly did not taste like fruit juice. If you want the taste of tomato, eat a tomato. This is my life motto.
Now that I'm grown, I can see the romance in the idea of drinking a glass of tomato juice every morning. I'm sure it's very healthy, and I only wish I were one of those people who are probably very tall and skinny and indulge in a glass of tomato juice. This is the same sort of person who always looks effortlessly comfortable in high heels. I am sure this person may go under the name of Kate Middleton, who is practically perfect in every way. What's more these tall, perfect people refer to tomato juice as an indulgence. Like those people who claim Greek yogurt is like dessert. I don't believe that for one minute, and neither should you.
Romance is fleeting, and there's a lot more required in a good relationship than the romance of Ryan Gosling GIFs. I've accepted that tomato juice and I will never be a couple. But that's okay. In life we all must make peace with who we are, and learn to stop comparing ourselves to other people. I will never be that girl who manages to make a morning commute look easy in five inch heels, and that's okay. I have learned to be content with the look of Audrey Hepburn in flats circa 1954, and I have also learned that it's okay to be content with mimosas. Because champagne and orange juice is always a good idea, and the misguided souls ordering Bloody Marys can be happy because there's more for them in the end.