You at least have to smell it

by Katie on February 10, 2012


I’ve talked about how we have two of practically every staple food item around here, right?

As in, whole and two or one-percent milk, white and whole wheat/grain bread, regular and whole wheat pasta, white and brown rice, etc. I’ll let you guess who eats each item.

The milk, however, is a more recent thing. Previously, Brandon did not drink enough milk to matter around here, so I only bought “my” milk, since I average a gallon and a half per week. Seriously. Love the stuff.

Then, back late summer, Brandon started drinking chocolate milk fairly regularly.

Which led to him complaining about my “water” milk.

Eventually, I became convinced he may actually finish a half-gallon of milk by himself, so I bought some whole milk.

That night, when he drank his chocolate milk, we used excellent communication skills, and he came right out and told me that it made a big enough difference to him that it was worth it to buy the two different kinds, even if his milk-drinking was still somewhat of a turning point in his dietary habits.

So I kept doing so. He even worked his way up to needing a full gallon (only every two weeks, compared to my two gallons per one week). Which means that these days, we have between two and four gallons of milk in our refrigerator at any given time. In a house occupied only by two adults.

But, like all things with my husband, his new-found milk-drinking habit has taken on a drastic decline recently.

Now, I only pay attention to how much milk we have when I go to the store, making sure each person has enough of “their” milk to get by until the next grocery run. I never check dates. Reason? I have never in my life let a jug of milk go bad. It is impossible with the way I drink the stuff. So it’s just never been an issue.

And I especially don’t check dates on things I do not consume. Rather, since our house is only inhabited by adults, I assume the person doing the consuming takes care of that and letting the grocery shopper know if something they want needs updating.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Because a few nights ago, we sat down to supper, where I was happily munching along, and Brandon excused himself to fetch a glass of chocolate milk. The first he’s had in a while, or so we would find out.

Just a moment later, he called from the kitchen, “You want a blog post?”

“Sure,” I replied.

To which he came charging into the dining room, exclaiming, “Blog about how you’re about to drink this!” And proceeded to set (set may be too gently of a word) his jug of milk down in front of me.

“January 23rd, Katie! January 23rd!” he shouted, quite comically, if I say so myself. I mentioned this was just a few nights ago, right? As in, February 8th. A ripe age for milk, to say the least. “Now you have to drink it.”

“Why do I have to drink it?” I inquired, wondering where this logic was coming from.

“Well, you at least have to smell it. I had to smell it, so now you have to,” he attempted to justify, “You can’t really drink it anyway. It would be more like eating, since it’s all almost solid.”

I did not give in to his logic, just so you know. Not even the slightest little sniff.

“Brandon, I really don’t see what the big deal is. You have a new jug in there. Just pour that one out, get the new one, and be done with it. It’s not like you actually drank the bad one or anything.”

“Well, I could have,” he said, with a little “hmph!” about him, and marched back to the kitchen to make a fresh glass of chocolate milk.

So I guess the what-could-have-been was traumatic enough for him. Lord help us if he ever does actually drink bad milk. Let the date-checking commence.



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