Sometime during the late 60s, I was a kid. I don't really know if it was the 1760s or the 1960s or the 1460s or whatever - it was a long time ago, plastic was invented. More specifically, plastic milk jugs were invented.
My parents, apparently, thought this was the greatest invention ever, beating sliced bread by a half-mile at least. Or maybe it was just my mom that loved the things. I can't really imagine that Dad cared one way or another.
Anyway, Mom, at least, loved the things. Our refrigerator was always full of them. And they, in turn, were full of various random liquids. Only one of which was ever actual milk.
I have very few really clear memories of being that young. I remember seeing my mom holding my baby sister. I remember seeing the first man walk on the Moon. I remember running through a sliding-glass door. And I also remember grabbing the wrong plastic milk jug, three times.
These occasions were all pretty much the same. I'd stumble out of bed at the crack of 10:00 AM or something like that. Dad would be at work. Mom would be at work. Since, even at that young age, I knew that starving to death would be unpleasant, I'd make myself some breakfast.
When you're six years old-ish, making breakfast really means pouring a bowl of cereal and milk.
That was always the plan, anyway.
And, usually, that's the way it worked out.
The first time that plan failed. It was a Honeycomb day. Dad must have gotten a bonus or something, because Honeycomb cereal was a very rare treat to us. I remember, several times, getting up extra early, like at 9:59, so that I could get to the Honeycomb before my sister ate it all.
Anyway, one morning I grabbed a box of Honeycomb, and I grabbed a bowl, and I grabbed a spoon, and I grabbed a plastic milk jug from the fridge. I sat at the little white table that was reserved for us kids (because we were such precious snowflakes) and I made myself some breakfast.
I don't think that my mouth was more than halfway closed on that first bite before I knew that something was terribly wrong.
Let me tell you something. Orange juice is good. Honeycomb cereal is good. But the two combined?
Not so good.
That was the first time.
The second time it was generic Cheerios and tea.
The third time it was, once again, generic Cheerios. But the third time it was, instead of milk, it was chocolate milk.
And it was fucking yummy.
I want some right now.