When I was a kid, I thought that the epitome of being a groen-up, being a man, was how my dad would take a new, unopen bottle of milk from the fridge and shake it in one hand to mix the cream before opening it. I could never do that; my hands were too small. Shaking a milk-bottle was a two-handed job all the way, involving serious concentration to avoid the bottle slipping out from between my hands and smashing into splinters on the floor. That only happened once: I distinctly remember crying about it, although my parents were decent enough to not make the obvious joke. But the way my dad could just pick up a bottle and shake it about in one hand while his attention was on something else, hand oscillating back-and-forth almost as an afterthought, summed up being adult in my seven-year-old eyes. I’d wish I could do it.
Now, of course, I am a grown-up. I’ve got a car and a mortgage. And I can shake a bottle of milk in one hand. But I don’t need to, because I only have skimmed milk, and there’s no cream to mix.
There’s a message here, I’m sure.
Funny, just two hours before reading this, my daughter decided to be helpful by helping me bring the milk in. Result; one very milky carpet.
I checked the pattern of splatter for a message, but couldn’t find anything.
Posted by Paul on July 5th, 2004.
The message you missed was “You should have installed laminate flooring”
Posted by Aquarion on July 5th, 2004.
haha ‘installed’
Posted by G. on July 5th, 2004.
[...] All my concerns with maturity seem to be related to milk, for some reason. [...]
Posted by as days pass by » On growing up on May 13th, 2006.
Haha Amazing thoughts of childhood came flooding in. I am so old I remember the tiny botles of milk issued to all school kids in the playground. Winter time in England the milk would be frozen yummy. Thanks for reminding me, Anni
Posted by Annie on January 26th, 2007.