The milk game.
Living in a 900-sq-ft house with seven people is enough to drive anybody nutty, and the waxy icing on this store-bought discount cake that is my life, is the many idiosyncrasies that lead to me reaffirm my belief in sterilization. (Male and female - laziness doesn't discriminate). I am lucky enough to be a Manitoba farm girl, which means that even when faced with a less-than-ideal circumstance, I choose to look on the bright side and make the best of things. I'm fine, really. I can haul the garbage to the dump, take out the recycling, clean the shitty toilet, change my own shorting-out taillights, etc. All I ask of you, darling roommates, is to extend a little consideration toward your fellow man. (I realize I lost this battle with the cleaning of the shitty toilet). Now the milk game definitely includes, but is not limited to, milk.
The milk jug sits on the top shelf of the fridge and the increments by which it is consumed, haunt me. Basic rule of humanity: you finish it, you replace it. This fundamental rule extends to other household items such as coffee beans, toilet paper, and dishwasher detergent. In this house, we play dirty and down to the wire. If I enjoy a bowl of cereal on Tuesday morning using a new jug of milk, you can bet by Tuesday night, the boys that I babysit live with have consumed all but (ballpark) an inch of milk left in the jug. By Wednesday morning, the levels have sunk to a mere half inch. I am taken aback. How? Who consumes half an inch worth of milk? Who is desperate enough to exhaust mere drops, but yet so lazy as to deposit the dregs back into the fridge for fear of having to replace the 4L jug? And so, on Wednesday night when I come home from work and want breakfast for dinner, I'm the fool who has to replenish the rations because the quarter-inch puddle left in the plastic jug won't suffice for making pancakes. After I use my extremely humble cup of milk for my extremely humble batch of pancakes on Wednesday night, I have barely left a mark in the newly purchased provisions. Thursday morning when I reach into the fridge to grab the milk jug for my cereal - I am surprised that the jug seems so light to the touch and that's when I realize that there's an inch of milk left. There it is, do you feel that? The root of my brimming frustration? I think God is trying to teach me patience.
