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Tuesday, May 14, 2013

I WAS A MILK SPILLER


I WAS A MILK SPILLER
 

As a young boy I used to often think, “When am I going to stop spilling milk?”  At least three times a week at dinner, I would reach for something and knock over my glass of milk.

I wasn’t a bed wetter, I was a milk spiller.  I don’t know which would be worse.  The bed wetter can’t really be blamed for his accident; he was asleep for crispy sake.  The milk spiller is awake and just careless.  The bed wetter does not get yelled at, or at least he shouldn’t get yelled at, the milk spiller is responsible for his mess.

Bed wetter’s are cleaned up and cuddled by mom.  They are told it is all right, that you’ll grow out of it. 

Milk spillers get yelled at. 

“Watch what you’re doing!  Damn, when are you going to learn there is a glass of milk between you and the butter dish?”

Milk spillers have to clean up their mess.

“Get some towels and clean up this mess!”

As I cleaned up the mess I wondered, “When am I ever going to stop milk spilling?” 

I never spilled the milk on purpose. I tried not to spill it, but then suddenly I had a desperate need for some salt and reached for it without thinking and in slow motion I see my sleeve hit the glass, the milk spill out and I hear my dad yell out, “J O E…T  h  e    m  i  l  k  !”

Or, I asked to be excused and pushed myself away from the table too hard and toppled the glass, or I tripped while clearing the table.  It was mortifying.  I was afraid to go out to eat, and I turned down invitations from friends to stay for dinner.

I wonder, was I the only one so inflicted?  I finally grew out of the problem but not until the age of at least ten. 

For a while I was afraid my milk spilling period would scar* me for life, fortunately it did not. 

Of course I no longer drink milk with dinner, just an occasional sippy-cup of wine.

 

*Damn Microsoft I know I can’t spell, but when you tell me scar is wrong and suggest scare, then I try skar and you suggest scar…WTF!

12 comments:

  1. you are invited to follow my blog

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  2. my milk spiller uses a lid, and must drink at the table or outside, and if the lid is not on right....at least he is outside or at the table!

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  3. My spilling was not confined to just milk. I was an equal opportunity clumsy oaf.

    S

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  4. I so get the milk spiller thing. Though I was not one myself, my youngest brother was. As were one of my children.

    And yes, Microsoft is trying to drive you insane.

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  5. laughing at your microsoft rant. :)

    just an awkward stage where brain and muscles don't coordinate well. :)

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  6. Be glad I am not your mother! This is from a post:
    When my son was about 2, the kids were having lunch & I was at the sink, with my back to them. He knocked over his glass & spilled his milk. I wiped it up & poured him some more. He knocked over his glass again, & again I wiped it up & poured him more. I warned him not to do it again or he would be sorry. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he DELIBERATELY knocked it over one more time. I picked up the gallon milk bottle (which had probably a quart or so left in it) & emptied it on his head! Childish, I know, but it made a beautiful waterfall—or, I guess, a milkfall. He didn’t even cry—he just sat there with his little mouth hanging open in amazement as the milk cascaded from his head. As far as I know, none of our kids ever deliberately knocked over their milk again. Not while I was in the room, anyway.

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  7. You were a milk spiller? I should have guessed. I used to cut myself and bleed on everyone's tablecloth. When I was a kid my relatives would put a plastic knife in front of me when I ate over.

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  8. Drink it first and it would be an empty and safe glass. I think you were a fishducky kind of kid and did it on purpose. Negative attention and all that.

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  9. Just today I spilled an entire bottle of water all over my desk at work. When I was a kid I was a tripper...I spent my ninth and tenth years of life covered in scabs from falling on cement.They dont call me Grace for nothing.

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  10. My youngest stepson was a spiller. Milk at the dinner table. Soda in restaurants. We should have made him carry a backpack with a collapsible mop.

    Every time he spilled, he'd clap his hand to his head and let out a Homer Simpson kind of "D'OH!" I know he didn't spill on purpose. He tried so hard not to. He was also an apple-core eater. I'd see that he was finished with an apple, and ask him what he did with the core. "Core?" He'd never heard of such a thing.

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  11. Rumor has it that I was a world-class spiller and all-around clumsy kid, too.

    My favorite line of this post? The part about drinking wine in a sippy cup.

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  12. I'm thinking that none of this would have happened if your parents had given you milk in a sippy cup...so other than abject humiliation, you would have been alright! :P

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