When you are a West Coast girl transplanted to Arkansas, there is much that is unfamilar, new and, dare I say it, intriguing: Watching a cotton field bloom like a sea of roses. Eating a bowl of grits for breakfast, sprinkled with shredded cheddar. Catching fireflies. Tasting farm-raised catfish and actually liking it. Learning to make due with RC when you really want a Coke.
But one of the greatest pleasures of having lived in the Silent S state is falling in love with Sonic’s cherry limeade. Just writing those three words – Sonic’s cherry limeade – makes me salivate. I adore the cherry limeade. Nothing else off the menu has the same charm 20 years later as cherry limeade. Tater tots I can get at any grocery store. I can even make a hamburger that I like better than a Sonic burger, but I have never been able to duplicate the cherry limeade.
When my Air Force husband received orders to go overseas and we left Arkansas, little did I know I would spend the next 20 years rubber-necking anytime I happened to be visiting a state where the yellow Sonic sign beckoned. And since we lived overseas for five years and then moved to rural Minnesota for the next 13 years, the sightings were few. Denver 2005, Memphis 2006. Oklahoma 2007. Just last month in Dallas.
So imagine my utter delight when I heard Sonic was coming to San Diego. The first two words out of my mouth when the news anchor announced it was a ferocious “Cherry Limeade!” to the household – a yell which sent both dogs bounding to the window to subdue an intruder.
And I am not the only West Coaster who has pined for a cherry limeade lo these many moons. When the new San Diego Sonic opened last month, customers lined up at 6 a.m. for the 10 a.m. opening. Surely, all they wanted was a cherry limeade.
So I am counting the days until Sunday. Mother’s Day. All the other moms can have their champagne brunches on patios with views of the Pacific. All I want is a cherry limeade. While sitting in my car with my kiddos. Brought to me by a fresh-faced teen on roller skates.
I can’t wait. . .