(For)Got Milk?

The milk was missing. This much was certain as I looked in the refrigerator. The old milk was there, but the new milk was missing. I moved the old milk aside to make sure the new milk wasn't hiding behind it. It wasn't, so I closed the fridge.

Where was it? I opened the fridge again. I don't know why. I suppose it was just in case the new milk had sneaked in while I wasn't looking. It hadn't. I closed the fridge again.

The milk was missing. This raised the obvious question. When a milk carton is missing, does its picture end up on the side of a child? It also raised another question often asked in such situations. If I were a milk carton... Where did I last see it?

I don't know why people ask, but they do. I usually ask just to see the reaction on the other person's face. It's an annoying question because, as anybody knows, if I knew where I last saw whatever it was that was missing, it would be a lot less missing than it was now.

I tried my best to avoid the question. Perhaps I had misplaced the milk while unloading the groceries the night before. Hoping for a miracle, I searched through the cabinets, under the stove and in the freezer. I almost checked the refrigerator again, but stopped myself just in time. The milk wasn't there. I was stumped.

With a sigh, I surrendered to the question. Closing my eyes, I replayed the relevant events leading up to that point...

I'm at the grocery store. I'm shopping. I'm pulling a milk carton with a Sell By date of May 7 from the refrigerator rack and putting it in the cart. I'm shopping. I'm shopping. I'm at the checkout counter. I'm putting the carton on the counter. I'm paying for it. I'm putting it in the cart. I'm putting it in the car trunk with the rest of the groceries. I'm taking it out of the trunk. Wait. Uh-oh...

I frantically searched for the car keys, as though a sense of urgency now would help the situation. Finding them, I raced into the garage, popped the trunk and stopped.

The milk was there. It was on its side, tucked all the way in the back. Slowly, I reached in and felt it for any sign of life, a desirable trait in a person, less of one in a perishable food item. It was warm. Somberly, I removed it from the trunk and disposed of it.

Last night, I stopped by the grocery store and bought another carton of milk. When I got home, it was the first item to leave the car. I carefully put it in the refrigerator, closed the door and walked away.

Then I came back and opened the fridge again just in case the milk had sneaked out while I wasn't looking. It hadn't. I closed the fridge again and didn't give it a third thought.