Two Bottles in the Refrigerator

The refrigerator contained two bottles of mineral water and almost nothing else worth drinking.

I had disliked mineral water since childhood. Friends sometimes brought it when they visited because they knew I would not already have any, and a few unopened bottles had survived their owners. I opened the refrigerator, saw them, and closed the door again.

There had to be another option.

There was no water, no cola, and no milk. The student apartment had reached the point where thirst was more organized than the household. After some time, I opened the refrigerator again. The same two bottles were waiting with the calm confidence of objects that knew I was running out of principles.

I opened one.

The first drink did not produce a miracle, but after a little while I had a much more embarrassing thought: why had I spent years refusing this?

Soon I was buying mineral water myself, often several bottles at a time. A childhood dislike had disappeared not because someone persuaded me, but because an almost empty refrigerator removed every easier choice.

That apartment taught many things badly and a few things well. On this particular day, it taught me that taste can change while pride is looking somewhere else.

The two bottles did not belong to me when they entered the refrigerator.

The next ones did.