Then, it occurred to me.
“Wait – my chocolate milk? I haven’t bought any chocolate milk, lately.”
“Yeah, you did.” Jeff came back. “It was just a little one, with the rabbit on it. I think maybe it wasn’t any good anymore. It smelled kinda funny. It was kinda old, too.”
My mind went from – I don’t remember buying chocolate milk to – “Wait – what? How old? It smelled bad, and you used it anyway?” I squawked and gaped.
“Well, it wasn’t that old. I checked the date. Just a couple of weeks. And, I don’t drink the stuff, so I don’t know what’s good!”
The rule-follower in me was flabbergasted. My brain shorted into partial words. I stumbled over ‘chocolate’ and ‘milk’ and ended up with an accidental coinage. “You gave me ch–urdled milk? This is why perishables are date stamped!”
“Nah,” Jeff insisted, remarkably patiently, considering we were having this conversation for perhaps the hundredth if not close to the hundredth time. “Those are just sug-gest-ed dates. Things don’t suddenly go bad on that date.”
“I know that,” I insisted, back. “But, they eventually do!”
That earned me an eye-roll. “Well,” he jokingly reasoned, “If you just drank the white milk, ya would’a had better coffee, then.”
“Yeah?” I countered, “and what is the date on that?”
Jeff yanked the fridge open and grabbed the milk jug. “Hmm,” he noted, grinning. “Says yesterday.” He pulled off the cap and, to my horror, full-on stuck his sniffer in the hole.
Not much scared Jeff. Inserting his nose into, or, even taking a swig from, a gallon of possibly spoilt milk, wasn’t on his list of scary stuff. For the record, though, being chased with a dead fish, was.
“Nope.” Jeff split-second analyzed the experience. “It’s definitely not ch-urdled, yet.” He glanced over at me, and grinned at my expression. “Probably wouldn’t use that either, wouldya?”
Me, grimacing back: “No. Especially, not since you just stuck your nose in there.”
“Aw, my nose didn’t touch the milk!” Jeff scoffed.
“So what, if it didn’t touch the milk? Your nose got wiped on the spout! You’re gonna have to pour the milk over that!’
“Geez, ok.” Jeff went for a paper towel. “I’ll wipe it out!”
“Don’t even think about giving me that milk, tomorrow.” I warned him. “And, don’t cook with it, either!”
Jeff guffawed. “You’re not gonna die from the milk!”
“Damn, right.” I replied. “Cuz, none of it is going past my lips!”
He took a swig, swished it around in his mouth, and ridiculously wiggled his tongue in my direction. “Wanna kiss?” he teased.
(To be fair, I guess Jeff helped coin the word. I dropped it, but he picked it up and ran for the punchline.)
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