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I’ve lost friendships over flavor ranking disputes. I can’t say that our love has been all smooth sailing. Sometimes I see him lingering as I pick up my next six pack of La Croix.

The next day, I left Perry in the dust to pursue the real gem of France. Under the cover of night so Perry wouldn’t find out, I tried my first. I guess you could say it was love at first sight. They walked around with a different flavor can every day, leaving me as green as the bottle in my heart. Lamenting my monogamy, I watched as my friends experimented. The bubbling in my heart was soft and delicate, but I always felt like I was missing out on something. Perry was an easy choice, entirely unoffending and placid. But eventually the mineral taste Pellegrino left with me grew tiresome. I was ensnared by Pellegrino’s devilish good looks and air of high society. My first love was foreign-an Italian with an effortless, vintage style.

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I’ve been burnt by fiery passion that fizzles out as quickly as it begins, drowned in tears saltier than club soda and left as frigid as the tips of my fingers when I crack open a cold one with the boys. Finally, someone understands the essence of my eclectic, old-world soul. Effervescent and delightfully fruity, La Croix taught me true love. 21 flavors of joy that speak to the heart. That was, of course, until I tried La Croix.Īh, La Croix. I never understood the connection that so many wax poetic about. Something about Casablanca, the Eiffel Tower and baguettes just ooze romance.