Disappointment

Espace Opéra Milk

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When I was in college, the caf always had cool milk.  I don’t mean, like, it was awesome to have around and told good jokes.  I mean that it was cool in temperature.  I would come home on some weekends, go straight to the fridge, grab the jug of milk, and pour an ice-cold glass of milk and guzzle.  It was bliss.

I love milk just below frozen.  As a kid, I would request my aunt to add ice to my milk; I firmly believe we should drink it no other way.  You won’t find me drinking warm milk to go to bed.

Once, on a weekend trip home during college, I guzzled milk only to find that it was bad.

I mean really bad.

So bad, I almost, ya’ know, puked.

The jug was almost completely full, so I didn’t get it.  As soon as other people got home, I inquired.  Apparently, someone had left the milk out and someone else didn’t realize; it may have been left out overnight.  Who knows?  At any rate, it had to be tossed.  I was disappointed.  And grossed out.

I find that life can be that way, too.  Sometimes, we get all pumped–hyped–about something that is bound to be so exciting.  Vacations, long weekends, sleep-in Saturdays.

We have been looking forward to something for years or months or weeks or days or hours or minutes only to be disappointed. Perhaps someone ruins your day or you were misinformed.  Vacation destinations have bad weather, long weekends are spent in the hospital, and Saturday mornings are spent at the garage after an unfortunate event involving a curb and your very fast car. Disappointment abounds.

No fun.

However, sometimes the disappointment doesn’t spring from the anticipated at all.  Sometimes, it’s all about our perception of things.  Maybe it truly was awesome, but we focused in on one unimportant aspect of the situation and this caused massive disappointment.  It really was good.  You just couldn’t shake the fact that the color wasn’t right or the favorite song wasn’t played or…

Tonight, when I came home from work, I grabbed a glass of milk to drink with my Girl Scout cookies.  As I went to take a drink, it smelled fishy.

Yuk.

I dumped out the glass, smelled it, and realized that it was the glass that smelled fishy–not the milk.  Perfectly good milk: wasted.  Then, I took out all the glasses in the cabinet.  More fishiness.  I found a good glass, but the milk desire was gone.

I went for sweet tea and tried not to breathe.

May all your days be less than disappointing,

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