It was about midnight when my sweet husband got home last night after helping with a fundraiser in Odessa. He had been standing over a smoky grill all day long doling out pulled pork tacos and New York strips. He smelled delicious.
When he shuffled into our bedroom after banging around in the laundry room and kitchen, he bemoaned, "We need more milk. The milk is out of date."
This morning, when I stumbled into the kitchen for my first glass of sweet tea I stopped short when I saw this sad tableau on my kitchen counter. I made my little Poor BooBoo face envisioning the slight slump of Alan's shoulders when he read the date on the milk jug. Sigh. "Glug-Glug-Glug," taunted the milk as it circled the drain in the kitchen sink. Too tired and disappointed to cope, he simply turned off the light and headed to bed.
What a week. Government's shut down. National Parks are closed. Miley Cyrus is still running free. A Georgia woman named Susan Bennett has "come out" as the voice of Siri.
Can't a hard-working man reasonably expect a jug full of cold, frothy, fresh milk - or sweet milk as my grandmother would say - after a slaving all day over hot coals and red meat?
My heart went out to my man. I, too, have had that late night disappointment. Bowl. Spoon. Cereal. Splenda. No milk.
"Best by" date on the milk? October 2nd. Yesterday was the 3rd.
I would have totally had a big old bowl of cereal last night. I ain't skeered.