I’m not sure where to start with this story – it wasn’t a bad day, just a one thing after another kind of day. I went into an advanced pilates class grateful to be focusing on something else. I left an advanced pilates class grateful to make it to the car on wobbling legs and arms that could barely lift keys.
I got in the car and threw my Gumby arms on the wheel hoping they would be enough to drive home. I made it all the way to the house before I remembered that we’re out of milk. We go through about two gallons a week so the addiction is real.
Out of the driveway I went, and to the store I drove. An interesting mix of breeds shop “after hours”. People watching is always a favorite of mine, but the day was wearing on me. I moved out of slow motion into a slightly faster version of snail pace and got a few things. How is it that a few things always ends up costing $40?
I aimed at self checkout to avoid an overflowing cart, pushed by an overwhelmed young mother enjoying her few minutes away from a crazy house. I hate self checkout but with only a few things, it would get me home faster. I scanned and bagged everything then set the milk down to swipe the old credit card. And that’s when the milk fell off the shelf and went splish splash everywhere.
In an effort to control the spill I double bagged the gallon and put it in a football hold. I made it home with a little more than a half gallon of milk and a wet lap. Loaded down with bags, purse, leaking milk and jelly legs and arms, I put everything down to find a pitcher for the milk.
By the time I found one there was milk all over the stove. I dumped the remains of the gallon into the pitcher as fast as I could. And that’s when I saw the remains of something else pour into the pitcher and start swirling around.
A dead spider, about the size of a quarter, was floating around with it’s legs stretched out like it was on vacation. I stood there blinking at the pitcher, with steady drops of milk falling to my feet and a steady stream of bad words flowing through my mind.
Why do things like this happen to me? (Remember Popping the Bubbly)
I can find the grateful in this story – if I hadn’t dropped the milk, I wouldn’t have poured it in a pitcher or seen a body floating in the jug.
But what do I do with it now? The body has been buried (in the trash can) but the milk is in the fridge. Do I pour it out and buy another gallon? I’m too cheap for that. Do I pretend it never happened and drink it through the gagging? I’m too grossed out for that.
The children don’t know any of this… is it wrong to give them the bug milk?