Children scatter as milk rivulets leap joyfully about my clean tile, the Big Bad Milk Monster rearing inside of me.
(She's quite fearsome.)
How is it that a cup of spilled milk produces a gallon's worth of splatters all over my kitchen?
And underside of my table?
I sop up. Then mop. Then mop again. And yet -
little, sticky, glistening dried ovals all over my floor. They laugh at me every time I walk in my kitchen.
I'm thinking that we're going to turn into a water-only family. I will pay their osteoporosis bills gladly.
Just don't make me clean up a n o t h e r spill.