Saturday, February 4, 2012

The Girl Who Had No Milk (it's a working title)

This is not about breast feeding. If you're one of those people looking for breast feeding stories or boob pictures might I suggest National Geographic or La Leche League Int'l? 

I shuffled into the kitchen this morning at the early hour of 10:30 in search of cereal and milk. Last night when I returned home I was so sleep deprived that I was able to turn a blind eye to the destruction that was my home. Mentally I ticked off a list of the various points of contention I would need to address with the freeloaders that were running the show while I was gone. Spaghetti sauce was dried on the stove top, crumbs littered the counters, the floors had not been swept, and to top it off there was no milk in the fridge. 

I know what you're thinking. "Angie, they should be ashamed. How dare they drink all the milk. What horrible little kittens!" The reason I know what you were thinking is that we're obviously on the same page here. I toiled away my whole life for these ingrates and I can't have cereal. The injustice was blatant and I might have even cried a little. 

I stomped back up the stairs to my room, hoping to make enough noise in the process for them to realize that I was disgusted by their complete lack of concern for my calcium needs. When no immediate response came I proceeded to slam my closet door and stubbed my toe on the bed before flopping down on it to bemoan my desperate situation. It was completely devastating. 

"Enough is enough!" I thought. "It is time to address this head on." Limping (follow along... bad toe) I went back down the steps with my mission clear. "Make your feelings known. Use your words, Angie. Employ guilt. Force them to go buy milk." (note to the reader: This conversation took place partially in my head and partially out loud. I talk to myself some. Let's move on.) It went a little something like this: 

I wasn't wearing any face cream... and I am not nearly that pretty when I get up in the morning. However, if you replace "wire hangers" with the theme of "where the hell is all the milk and why am I the only one who doesn't consider dried spaghetti sauce a decoration" then it's pretty much the same thing. The more I think about it, even though I am not a fan of mercilessly beating anyone with closet implements, Joan worked hard to be able to provide those kids with good wooden hangers and still the girl used the wire ones. What a slap in the face! 

You do everything you can as a parent to give your kids what you didn't have. Okay I had milk when I was a kid, but the point is I didn't have any this morning. You know what I mean? Am I blowing this out of proportion? Part of me thinks this isn't about the milk at all. One moment. I think I might have figured it o... No. Lost it again. 

Have you ever felt like going batsh*t crazy over the little things? Share with me people. Tell Angie how you feel. 


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