Monday, June 14, 2010

Crying over spilled milk

This past week was the worst of my career. Nothing was going right, nothing I did was good enough and it was time for our monthly office meeting. If I were into crying, I would have cried.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse our boss told us that our unit was responsible for bringing food. I got assigned to bring two dozen doughnuts which meant I had to pay money out of my own pocket to feed my co-workers and get bored into a coma in a super useless meeting.

I was feeling pretty low when I arrived at the doughnut shop. Like a true sugar addict and emotional eater I ordered my own little stash of doughnuts to make sure I got some before my co-workers descended on them like so many velociraptors. I also got a bottle of milk to top it off. I was so depressed I splurged and got whole milk.

I loaded everything into my car and headed off to work. While driving I tried to open my milk bottle and it proceeded to rupture and spew milk all over the place like a lactating volcano. Most of the milk landed in my lap and the rest splashed all over the steering wheel, which made steering a tad bit tricky. I was able to keep control of my Geo Prizm and I was ok, but I couldn't say the same for my pants, which had absorbed enough milk to feed a small calf.

After the milk dried my pants smelled like rotten milk. Fortunately this happened at the beginning of the day so I didn't have time to go home and change and I got to go through the day smelling like a cow with udder incontinence.

While I was being bored to smithereens I flashed back to when I was ordering the doughnuts. The doughnut place also sold cupcakes and they had one species called “Ticklebelly” cupcakes. I was really curious what a Ticklebelly cupcake was and what it tasted like, but I wasn't about to order it. I couldn't bring myself to say “I'd also like a Ticklebelly cupcake.” I just couldn't do it. All my manliness would be gone.

Basically I can't order anything that sounds stupid. For example, at IHOP they used to have this one dish called a “Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity” breakfast. Now I don't care how much fruit comes with it or how fresh it is, I would not order a “Fresh and Fruity” breakfast if it were my last meal. I'm not about to say “Can I please have the Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity?” out loud to another person. I just can't.

If I ever spent time in the U.K. I would be up a stump because some traditional English dishes are called Bangers and Mash, Bubble and Squeak and Toad in a Hole.

Maybe I could order some online or over the phone, like a Ticklebelly Toad in a Hole place that delivers. Mmmmm-mmm.


  1. A true sugar addict and emotional eater myself, I also suffer (Do I "suffer?") from Inability to Say Lame Product Name Syndrome.

    We should probably both move to the UK and become rail thin. Though in Europe, I took to pointing at menus. I'm afraid I'd find loopholes.

    Ok, let's start a support group, instead.

    I enjoyed this post, a lot.

  2. At IHOP, can't you just point to the picture in the menu?

    And in England (my fiancé is British), bangers and mash is so common, that people don't giggle at it.

  3. A support group would be nice. I am totally down.

    And I COULD point, but then I would seem illiterate or something, and this whole thing is about ego anyway.

  4. reading about other peoples bad days always makes me laugh. i dont know why but it also makes me feel bad 1) for laughing at others 2)when i have a bad day i usually make it such a big deal and get everyone else mad when my day wasn't that suckish
    but now you do have me thinking what that doughnut taste like and no i wouldnt order it either

  5. "lactating volcano" almost made me lactate myself


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