I have an immense amount of paranoia towards dairy. Milk, in particular… it’s the silent killer. Yogurt tends to develop green or blue spots, a sure sign that it is no longer meant to be ingested. Same with cheese (or it’s blue cheese, and meant to look like that… and I’m ok with that), and, while it is harder to notice on butter, I usually catch a whiff of that mouldy, unpleasant smell before I eat that piece of buttered toast.
Milk, though… it is very hard to tell, at a glance, if it is any good. The number of times that I have gotten a half-swallow of a glass of milk down my throat before realizing that there are small lumps of milk (this is before it entirely solidifies into a chunky awful mess), or that gag-worthy sour taste… ugh. And those tiny fragments of pre-chunky-milk catch in your teeth and rinsing your mouth out doesn’t quite cut it to fully dispel the sensation.
Before pouring milk on my cereal, I pour a bit into an empty bowl to check for the tell-tale signs of milk gone off.
And yet, this morning, I didn’t think twice about taking my spoon out of my oatmeal, stirring my milky tea, and then continuing to eat oatmeal.
Classy gal that I am, I actually spit the last gulp of tea back into the cup, in front of a co-worker, horrified at the
possibility that I had made it through an entire mug of tea without noticing that the milk had gone chunky. Then I identified the chunks as oatmeal. Oh. My bad.
On Friday, I didn’t question my parents’ decision to head up camping… on Sunday… apart from wishing that they would give a bit more of a heads-up, since fully prepping a trailer and packing it takes a fair amount of time. Despite not being in on this adventure, I was still expected to help with gathering equipment.
I nodded as they said they were bringing Gwynn, and packed a duffel-bag of dog things, as well as writing out a list of important information and reviewing his obedience commands with them – practicing the ‘come’ command doesn’t stop just because I’m out of the picture for a week!
Saturday night, I headed out to a bonfire party, sad at the idea that Gwynn would be gone by the time I got home in the morning, but knowing that I would only become more and more freaked out at the idea of sending him up North without me. Yes, I am ‘that’ paranoid dog owner now. I foresee myself being more than just a helicopter-mom, when the time comes… I’ll be a TIE-Fighter mom.
Woke up the next morning, promptly remembering that Gwynn’s last Obedience Training class of the summer term is this Tuesday. Oh well, I guess I’ll be going solo. I’d like to think I probably wouldn’t have changed the plans and kept him home, even if I had remembered the class. After all… missing a week of camping for an hour of obedience class… that’s just not right!
Sunday, I realised that I hadn’t signed us up for this Monday’s Cross-fit class… luckily, their registration policy is not the same as the cancellation policy, and they’re fine with you signing up less than 12 hours before the class is set to start.
I nearly snuck out the side door in my usual ninja-manner before remembering this fact.
I also nearly left the house in my pyjamas. And without a top for my office-wear outfit for after the gym. That would have been an interesting one to explain.
… What I’m trying to say is, sometimes there’s oatmeal in your coffee and car keys in the freezer. Just make sure you’ve changed out of your pjs before heading out the door. Especially if it automatically locks behind you.