Without water, we can’t survive. Even though the phrase “I’m dying of thirst” is hardly ever true, we’ve learned not to take chances. That’s why people have become just like camels: wherever we go, each of us now carries our own water supply. According to Darwin’s theory, eventually we’ll sprout actual humps on our backs and the term “retaining water” will be a good thing. Until then, we all clutch bottles of water, prepared for any emergency.

Usually. Today I forgot. My daughter, Kelly, and I were at SeaTac airport waiting for my husband’s plane to land. In her best take-pity-on-me voice, Kelly said, “Mom, I’m really thirsty.”

No big surprise. At any given moment she has long a list of needs she expects me to fulfill. The surprising part: I was carrying not one drop of water. “Let’s find a drinking fountain,” I suggested, trying to be helpful.

“Ewwwww!” Kelly made a face. “Drinking fountain water tastes ICKY!”

She had a point. “Icky” is a pretty good way to describe the entire drinking fountain experience. Drinking fountains dispense water in a diabolical pattern of unpredictable bursts that evade consumption. I haven’t used one since bottled water came along, but I remember the frustration: leaning toward the stream of water, I usually got oh-so-close just as it sputtered to a pathetic gurgle due to the flushing of a nearby toilet – there was always a nearby toilet – that greedily hogged all the water pressure.

Even the occasional victory was decidedly un-sweet; drinking fountains spout ordinary tap water. And tap water, as Kelly described, tastes “icky.”

When I was her age I didn’t know any better. My family drank tap water all the time. In those days we didn’t know water was supposed to be bottled/filtered/carbonated/flavored/ oxygenated/infused/fortified. Back then we didn’t give it much thought; our water - like our coffee - was murky with a slight tinge of brown. Before Starbucks and Tully’s came along our coffee was weak, but our water was strong!

As a kid I was happy to drink water that traveled to our house through rusted, corroded pipes, naturally picking up a taste that could be described as “bad.” And minerals? We had ‘em! By the time it got to our kitchen sink this water held so much sediment it could be mined. If my brother or I got a glass of water we just accepted the fact that there’d be a layer of grit on the bottom. Anyway, we didn’t care - we dumped in so much “Tang” (like the Astronauts!) that if we crunched something we figured it was just some un-dissolved sugar.

Was this water safe? Sure. It was treated with lots of chemicals to kill germs and bacteria. A glass of it contained the same amount of chlorine as the average swimming pool. Forget Crest White Strips…to get whiter teeth, we just swished with tap water!

The problem: once you’ve tasted bottled water, there’s no going back. Now I use tap water for washing my hands, not for drinking. I may not know much about wine (a fruity essence and lingering overtones of butter??) but I can spot tap water (a metallic essence and lingering overtones of chlorine!!) a mile away. And even though I’m not normally picky (you should see what I’m wearing), I can’t stand the taste. Anyway, for health reasons I’ve learned to avoid all chemicals unless they’re absolutely necessary – like the preservatives in a Butterfinger.

I’m not the only one. Everyone in my family – even Kelly – insists on drinking bottled water, even though it turns out it’s not always that special; sometimes so-called “Spring” water isn’t from Springs at all, but from Summers, Winters and even Falls!

A joke. But this part is true: I did some sleuthing on the Internet, and found out some of the big soft drink companies sell bottled water with fancy made-up European names, when it’s really just plain old water “from the bottler’s local water source.” It’s been purified by “reverse osmosis” (a process my brain has been using for several years to leach out all the information it gathered up until I turned 40).

It doesn’t matter; bottled water tastes good. At the age of twelve, Kelly’s already figured that out. So today I grabbed a fistful of change from the bottom of my purse and we headed to the nearest vending machine. Kelly fed the change into the slot while I gazed at the vending machine’s neighbor, cursing its tempting assortment of candy.

Then, as Kelly quenched her thirst, I suddenly experienced one of those real-life emergencies! Clutching my throat, I grabbed the bottle of water from her outstretched hand and took a desperate gulp. That’s when I made a vow: as long as I remain hump-less, I’ll never again be without my trusty bottle of water.

I took one more swig, and washed down the last bit of Butterfinger.