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Home > Archive > Mar 13, 2008

A Woman and Her Bubba
By Sharon May
Managing Editor
Sometimes I worry about my credentials in the femininity department.
For one thing, I don't like to shop. Well, at least, not for the things women are supposed to like to shop for. Like handbags. I sling a backpack over my shoulder and call it good for three years. Shopping for clothes curdles my unpainted toenails. And you won't find me window-shopping. Not until I'm being pushed, drooling, in a wheelchair.
My shopping rewards more likely come from the hardware department.
Like the 52-ounce cobalt blue Bubba Keg I found in the auto section of Target last week. Talk about excitement. Waiting in line in the checkout aisle, I practically trembled with the thrill of finding a replacement for my old, leaky keg at home. I actually caught myself in a Tim Allen growl. I am woman, hear me slurp!
It's not that I need a humongous mug to make me feel better or bigger. In fact, my monstrous keg makes me feel almost petite. It's all a matter of perspective, and hauling around my trash-can size cup puts my hips in a new light – in the shadow of my keg.
Really, though, these insulated travel mugs are getting ridiculously large, like a kind of post-1950s space race. If the trend continues, we'll be strapping water heater-size plastic mugs to luggage carriers and pulling them behind us all day. Already, with my 52-ouncer, I feel like I'm carrying around a prop from the "Land of the Giants" TV show. When I grasp it with both hands and take a sip, I feel like Lilly Thomas in her jumbo rocker on "Laugh-In."
My colossal keg makes me giggle. As I filled it with Suisse mocha this morning, which took half an hour, I had the feeling I should have been slapping on a hardhat, climbing into a Dodge Ram, and heading for a job soldering steel I-beams.
What unnerves me when I see these gargantuan cups in the hands of strangers, though, is wondering what the swill du jour might be. I don't relish the idea of being on the same road with the person filling his keg with a gallon of Jolt Coke at the quick-mart before hitting the highway. Or imagine your doctor chugalugging a Bubba Keg of Budweiser before aiming a laser at the tiny mole on your eyelid, or reattaching your arm after an unfortunate chainsaw mishap.
Anything could be inside these lidded insulated cups. And that’s the major drawback, I’ve discovered. Everyone who sees me sipping from my 52-ounce cup asks me what’s inside, with something like, “Good grief, woman, I hope that’s not Pepsi inside that barrel!” I’m getting tired of it. The next time I’m asked, I’m going to smile and say, “Nope, prune juice.” I’ve always wanted to experience being a loose woman.
But really, my tub of brew is more likely to be ice water with a hint of mango green tea for flavor. So my brain may not be thrumming in chemical overdrive, and my hands may not be shaking with caffeine palsy. But halfway through my keg, my bladder is definitely screaming. And I'm racing to the ladies room every eight minutes, shoving fellow workers from my path.
By lunchtime, I've had the equivalent of kidney dialysis or a month of high colonics. My entire system is flushed of leftover pockets of Blue Bunny ice cream and is squeaky clean.
I can see that if I’m going to continue swigging from my 52-ouncer, I’m not going to get anything done at work.
But I think I’m also seeing the future: the portable IV-Catheter Total Hydration and Elimination System. After all, there are a lot of us Moby-cuppers, and we don’t all work outdoors with convenient bushes – although there is an artificial potted palm near my desk.
Unfortunately, too, my gonzo keg doesn’t fit in my car's modest cup holders. This is both annoying and alarming. On my way to work, my container toppled over and spilled. The resultant flood swept me from my vehicle and nearly into the path of an on oncoming pickup. 
Clearly the National Transportation Safety Board should look into this problem. We need mandatory cup restraint devices, like little car seats, for these tankards. Either that, or issue vehicle recalls to retrofit our cup holders to the circumference of a ponderosa.
I guess we really don’t need these jumbo cups. But mea gulpa, I like my 52-ouncer, and I’m not giving it up. Every woman needs her Bubba.

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