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Mostly sunny. High around 85F. Winds SW at 5 to 10 mph..

Partly cloudy skies this evening will give way to cloudy skies and rain overnight. Low 59F. Winds NNW at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 100%. Rainfall around a half an inch.

We must be a society dying of thirst. Everywhere I go I see poor, parched people whose lips are greedily sucking straws. Gulping special water from plastic bottles. Sipping swigs of coffee from logo-ed cups.

I know it’s hot. And I understand the need for liquids in sweaty weather.

But the drinkers I see aren’t those whose activities demand constant hydration. Most of them are citizens who are out in the world for a leisurely look-see.

Strolling. Sitting. Browsing. Just BEING.

I buy fountain sodas. The cup holder in my car is seldom empty. But when I leave my car to enter a store, I leave my drink in my car. By the time I turn off the engine at my destination, I’ve had enough soda to tide me over until I finish shopping. My tongue won’t swell and toughen like leather. I will still be able to swallow when I hit the air outside the store.

Why is it that I seem to be the only one?

At an orchestra performance recently, I shared my seat row with a family of water guzzlers. From the tallest to the smallest; they all carried a bottle of store-bought water — the symbol of environmental devastation in plastic form. The lids of the bottles had little “sippers” on them, those nozzles you can pull up and aim at dry tonsils like squirt guns.

But they didn’t squirt them. Oh, no. They sucked them.

Halfway through a tender violin solo, I heard this quartet of water junkies employ unison suction on their respective bottles. They siphoned water like desperate desert wanderers, cheeks caving inward with the effort.

The sides of their spring water bottles collapsed simultaneously, creating a squishy PL-PLOP as each one lost its shape, and an equally annoying PL-PLOP as it returned to its original dimension.

I swear I could hear each one of them swipe their wrists across their lips to catch wayward dribbles. Were these people victims of dreaded, liquid-stealing tapeworms?

Nah. They just liked that water.

Church pews used to be austere benches that taught discipline by the achy seat of one’s pants. They only items that were inserted into mouths during services were gum, Lifesavers, or breath mints. Babies could get away with bottles, if absolutely necessary.

If you had to have a drink, you slunk from the auditorium under your parents’ disapproving glare, pretended to use the bathroom, and hit the water fountain on your way back.

Now, pews are like movie seats. Coffee clings to drowsy hands, and soda straws pop up behind open songbooks. Nobody says anything about it. They understand. People are just thirsty.

I expect to see those helmets with can holders and long curvy straws at church soon, all fizzing messily while they’re tilted in prayer.

Is it an oral fixation? A psychologically damp security blanket? Are we so spoiled that we cannot imagine a block of time without something to imbibe? Or is it just another example of our excessive society’s trend of constant and immediate gratification?

My thirsty fellow Americans. I have a challenge for you. Get a drink before you leave the house. Then, watch and see. You’ll live through a few hours of waterless shopping/worshipping/existing.

And if you do get thirsty, (remember that feeling?), I guarantee you’ll have enough energy to belly up to a variety of counter or windows that sell liquids you can drink and discard before wandering back into your urban desert.

Try it. You’ll be fine. I promise.

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