Today I fail at milk.
This morning I made tea and put it in my travel mug and drove to the zoo and was gone 8 hours… and when I got home I found the brand new carton of milk that I opened for the tea this morning sitting on the counter. Expanded. And warm.
I fail at milk.
And now I have to go back to the store to get more and it’s payday and I hate going to the store anywhere near payday (unless it’s before payday, then I like going to the store). This is because the commissary on payday (and for about 4 days afterward) is kind of like an insane military spouse holding pit. It’s almost like having to do battle with the forces of darkness, except it’s a bunch of women with bad attitudes, poor budgeting skills and three to five kids a piece. Pushing two carts in many cases. Taking up the aisles. Yelling at their screaming kids.
It’s a nightmare.
Okay, maybe not a nightmare, but it’s not fun for little shopping-by-myself me.
Maybe I won’t worry about the milk for a bit. Maybe. I still have another carton, this was just the one that I opened this morning. As long as I don’t fail at milk again for a little while, I should be fine. Should be. I’m optimistic.
And I guess the sour milk is where we end this BEDA thing. It’s hard thinking of stuff to say every day! That’s why sometimes you don’t get much. I don’t lead an exciting life.
Let’s face it; I just rambled for several paragraphs about milk.
Leave a Reply