For those of you who don’t know this. I am a big milk fan.

Like I mean a total milk fan girl.

I go to pasteurising rallies. I take part in extra curricular dairy related activities. I don’t believe in such lies as: "powdered milk” and I don’t want to hear about any of this “soy” Bullshit.

I am a full cream milk enthusiast drinking kinda gal.

You know why I like milk?

Because if you look out for your milk, Milk will look out for you. Calcium wise anyway. Milk won’t turn around and stab you in the liver and run off with your wallet. Milk won’t sexually abuse you as a child. Milk won’t be your best friend, best man at your wedding, smile with you and cry with you and then one night you come home early from work to find it doing your wife of four years in the wheelbarrow position on your new leather Layzboy. Milk won’t do that, Milk would have told you not to marry that slut in the first place.

Milk won’t hurt you.

Milk is good. Milk is wholesome. Milk is pure. Milk is the drink of LIFE. Just look at all the little baby animals. Go on! See that fluffy kitten batting around some yarn? That puppy scratching his ear.. Oh! He’s loosing his balance! Oh! How adorable!

Know why there so damn cute?? That’s right! It’s all the milk they drink bitches. Nature knows what’s good for it.

So please

Someone.

Anyone…

Please explain to me what happened to me last night. I feel positively raped of the goodness in me. I am now a brittle husk of the bright girl I once was…

…It was a normal sort or night. It was preceded by an even more normal day. It was the kind of night where I’d yet again promised myself to be in bed, slumbering ‘neth the blankets by midnight. And yet again I had failed to keep a promise to myself and it was now 2 am and I was still alert and upright at my desk. The only sound came from my continuous left clicking. Stumbling around the internets was parching work.

And so I decided, as I had done many time before in all my 20 summers, to go and fetch myself a cold beverage.
Of course, at 2am, you can hardly drink alone. First I needed sustenance to complement my drink.
I rooted about in the cupboards for some time. Unlike a racoon, which I imagine would have made much more noise and been far less picky.

‘Biscuits?’ Asked myself internally. ‘Nay.’ Crumby crummies were not what my taste was seeking. ' peanut butter? Oreo sticks? Water crackers?’ One by one these failed to please.

So finally I said ‘fuck it.’ And slid the last of the white chocolate cake onto a plate.

So delighted by the prospect of cake (it was practically nummy kind of cake, might I add!), this quickly became a meal I was quite anticipating. Of course, now that my secondary motive was complete, my main objective became clear.

Course there was little question now. For whatever could accompany late night cake better, then the king of beverages himself!

I’m taking about Milk of course!

I swiftly sought out a tall glass and set it on the bench top.

I approached the fridge as I would and old trusted friend. Open arms, with a small warm smile. It greeted my back, flicking on the gold internal light before I could open the door to further darkness. The cold blast wafted over me, and I felt as if I could have been standing in front of an automatic fan on a very low setting while someone held an ice try in front of the blades. Yes. That was the feeling.

I reached down without having to look. I knew my fridge as well as it knew me. The fridge and I were close. If you had given us both a questionnaire on each others favourite things just to measure how well we knew each other; we’d have past with flying colours.

My fingers tightened around the handle. Yes. This felt right. The weight was familiar, although the bottle was new. Unopened. Fresh. Untouched.

Some might ever say ‘virginal’. I wouldn’t though. I think that’s just creepy.

I set it down on the bench and shut the fridge with my foot. I’m just cool like that. I can open doors with my feet. I know it’s weird. But it comes in handy when my hands are full. And I’m not just talking handles. I can turn knobs too.

But enough about that.

I stood firm, feet parted, aligned with my shoulders, and parallel to the bench. I took the handle of the plastic in my left hand and griped the seal and cap with right. Turning until I heard the musical ‘snap snap snap’ of the seal. I relaxed my grip and spun the cap clock wise until it fell away in my hand…


…And WOE!

How betrayed I am! How the spite boils in my gut. How the rage itches between my bones. How wronged I feel! How distrusted! All the world is wronged!
TO FIND SUCH AN INSULT IN THE PLACE I WOULD LEAST SUSPECT!!

And yet… the emotions I felt did not surface. I simply stood. Silent. Still. Staring. Openly aghast at the sight. The lid clutched tight between my fingers.

Oh what a horrible sight I did behold!!

There, at the neck of the bottle, vacuumed tight, and with a hint of sliver foil….was a second seal.

Just…Just THERE! Like it had always been. And I know that surly isn’t true! It didn’t not belong! It was not a art of my ‘milk pouring process’ It never has been and I’ll be DAMNED if it starts to be common!

I must have started for 20 seconds r so before all my swarming emotions bubbled to the surface and took from of a soft unbelieving “ ….What?”

I Opened it! And it STILL was not open!

I EXPECT this kind of BULLSHIT form JUICE! Vitamin water and powerade and the likes! But …BUT MILK??!!!

Since WHEN!!???

Will there be a time when I tell my gran kids about the past? The past BEFORE the future? A time when milk wasn’t just a vacuum sealed solid pill that you took once a Splinenium? A time… when milk was true?

This is how its starts people. First they’re double sealing our milk… then triple sealing our ovens… SOON you’ll need 8 keys, 2 retina scans and a stool sample JUST to open a bag of chips.


So anyway, in the end, I ripped the fucker off and threw him in the trash. Where he belongs.
Fuck that. I won’t stand for this in my house.

My cake was good though.

Mm.

Very good cake.