Dairy Disaster (A True Story)

It was a day like any other.

I ambled into the supermarket, eyes bright and shining, ready for the plentiful bounty that awaited me. Basket held in hands that shook with anticipation, I licked my lips with insatiable hunger and went forth into the aisles, snatching up sumptuous food items left and right. My basket became a veritable cornucopia as I grasped endlessly at exotic delights to fill my week with flavor.

And then I came to the dairy section, where the fruits of bovine excellence were stacked left to right, as far as the eye could see, if you were standing really close. My mouth watered as I thought about the cool, rich sensation of milk, that lactic ambrosia filled with calcium for strong bones.

I went to grab my usual box, nodding to myself with confidence, dreaming of dipped cookies and crisp cereal.

And then my eyes widened with fear. Tender beads of sweat began to make their way down my brow, and my lower lip trembled like a harp string at the lightest touch. I stood transfixed, attempting to make sense of a suddenly wayward universe.

I had completely forgotten what brand of milk I buy.