I think that my husband is getting up in the middle of the night, sneaking into the kitchen, and drinking juice, possibly without remembering a thing in the morning.
Or else–and this is the possibility that, oddly enough, troubles me more–there is an extraordinarily large contingent of Parisians who think that it is acceptable to open a carton of juice in the grocery store, take a few swigs, and put the carton back.
I go to different stores, buy different brands, try different flavors, and it still happens with alarming frequency. In recent months, in fact, we’ve had a 100% tamper rate.
And seriously: I checked the last one. I peered at the little plastic thingies; they looked intact. It felt heavy and full. But by the time I got around to opening it? Internal safety seal missing, along with about a cup’s worth of the juice. Nick, looking as sincere as the day we married, denied all knowledge.
You tell me.