My mother took a trip up to the U.S. to visit my brother. People asked her to bring them back a lot of different things: high-def mics, cowboy boots, silks for rolling cigs and joints, special brands of super-special teas, a phone or two, and other random crap. Some of this stuff you can even get here, just not as cheap.
I asked for a couple of bottles of root beer. You can't get root beer down here. It doesn't even exist.
She brought me Dr. Pepper.
She doesn't understand that Dr. Pepper is not root beer. Not even fucking close. And because she doesn't understand, I said thank you and drank one and left the other in the fridge.
Dr. Pepper isn't horrible. It's not going to kill me.
But it's not fucking root beer, now is it? The person who ordered the cowboy boots didn't get a pair of shit-kicker combat boots, did they? She didn't bring the person who wanted classic Zig-Zag silks for their fucking joints some random off-the-counter brand, she got them Zig-Zag.
I asked for root beer. I got Dr. Pepper.
Okay. Sorry. I'm done complaining now.