Throughout my three and a half years of having this blog, people have asked me about the name. I review biblical books, talk about biblical concepts from those books, occasionally talk about my life, even Pac-Man . . . but spoiled milk? Even worse… spoiled milks? I thought I’d share with you two events that have scarred me deeply, deeply enough to carry this burden around on my own as a spectacle to the world. It’s the thorn in my flesh.
The Four Letter Curd Word
Once upon a time, anybody who was anybody was a part of the MySpace megalodon. It was all the rage back home. I was never one for writing, not until my life flashed before my eyes. What was thought to be a one-off occurrence soon became all too common. Growing up, my family always drank a lot of milk. Milk was always ready and available, and it was always good. I came home from college one day and, because of my love for ice cold cereal, I poured myself a bowl of cereal. We had no sugary sweets, so plain Rice Krispies would do fine. Bowl + Ice + Cereal + Milk = a good time (I’m a simple guy).
Then a miracle happened. Call it a miracle on Elm Street. I had the aurora cerealis in my mouth. My Rice Krispies had turned into Fruit Loops! The tastes—the colors . . . . It was like the boat scene on Willy Wonka.
My tongue began to tingle.
…never happens when I eat Fruit Loops…
- Bowl? Check.
- Ice? Check.
- Cereal? Check.
- Milk? Che… waaiitt…
………………………………………Two weeks past due.
I poured the milk out, kept the cereal, poured new milk in, and ate the rest. I later found a 13-day-old un-opened gallon of milk. What is this? Goosebumps?
Thus, a machine was born. I began to blog every Tuesday about absolutely nothing. (You would think Edwin Starr wrote my life.)
When you’re an only child and you sink this low, the only thing to do is become more spoiled. The next occurrence involved a birthday party, late-night cookies, and tuna fish.