Close your eyes.

Come on, close them.

Great, now imagine you’re at a child’s birthday party. Let’s say your youngest niece just turned 2, and all of the family has gathered around her high chair to sing Happy Birthday, and later cut the cake.

Okay, you got it? Are you there mentally? Great.

You finish the song strong. But at the very last second, someone in the back who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket tries to Michael-Scott the top harmony. She executes it confidently, but it’s also super flat.

You trade glances with your cousin, and her husband. You can’t read minds per se, but somehow you know exactly what they’re both thinking. Probably because their raised eyebrows match yours.

Everyone shrugs it off, but secretly plans to gossip about it while the kids open presents.

Then what happens?

Your younger sister, the mom of the aging toddler, offers everyone cake and ice cream and dishes them out across the counter.

And then…like Big Ben chiming 5 o’clock and reminding you that all is well, some random attendee says…

“_{As long as I can wash it down with a big glass of milk”}

And then, suddenly, I’m filled with this unspeakable rage. Not that angry, wrathful kind of rage, but that instantly-annoyed rage that makes you exhale sharply and mumble “you’re kidding me, right?” under your breath.

Kinda like when one of those self-absorbed drivers tails you way too close. You know the ones? The ones who proudly proclaim to be “aggressive” like it’s a good thing, then wonder why they’re to blame for 66% of all traffic fatalities.

The kind who ride your back bummer and swerve from side to side on a one-lane highway as if doing so will somehow telepathically tell the 90-year-old lady, driving 65 in an 80, a half mile up the road to give it some gas.

Why?

Why are these milk enthusiasts so vocal about their love of milk?

Sure, the combo may taste great. I get that. But why is there always one–in a crowd of 500 or a crowd of 6–who has to make a comment about how they require a glass of milk when it comes to eating anything cake-related? Why?

Could they, just once, NOT remind the world of their culinary preferences? The way I see it, they’re the New Vegans, they’re just too afraid to go all the way.

“Oh, you love milk? Then why don’t you marry it?”

“Excuse me?” asks the Lactose Vegan.

“Why. Don’t. You. Marry. It?”

“Because milk isn’t alive.”

“Really? Cause every time you see a dessert menu, you instinctually bring up milk as if that’s the reason you’re two months pregnant. At least smokers and gamblers have the courage to at least identify with their addictions?

That’s right, I called it an addiction. Because it is. If the item in question were anything other than milk, it would be seen as an addiction.

So maybe the better question is…why do we, those who consume dairy rationally, why are we so reluctant to admit that the American obsession with milk is a tad bit annoying?

“Cuz it tastes better!” screams the soft, yet confrontational voice in my head.

THAT’S NOT THE POINT!

The point is…it’s weird.

Example #1

If I offered a plate of cubed cheese and sliced meats to a crowd of eight, and some divorced, lonely, cougar in the back raised her jewelry-swamped hand into the air and said “as long as I can wash it down with a big glass of Merlot,” we all know how that would be received.

At least three of them would think “uh oh, Debra’s got a new boyfriend and his name rhymes with schm-alcoholism.”

Example #2

Let’s say you and your friends are having a guy’s night. You hit the local watering hole, a gaming sports bar, and engage in some harmless axe-throwing. You throw back two beers, flirt with the waitress, get shot down in front of everyone, throw back six more beers, then decide to end the night with a Smash Brothers tournament. On the way home, you swing by Taco Bell.

Don’t overthink it. It’s 1 in the morning and you’re all hammered, except for the youngest guy in the group, who agreed to be the Designated Driver.

Anyways, you pull into the drive-thru. As you all put in your orders, your lactose-intolerant friend in the back-left seat says, “I would love three chilly-cheese burritos before bed, but only if I get to wash it down with a Lactaid capsule or else I will be up all night wrecking the bathroom.”

You see my point? Not yet? Fine!

Example #3

You’re broke and unemployed, but you tell everyone you’re an entrepreneur. Your best friend of seventeen years just won the Power-Ball, a whopping 333 million (before taxes, of course). Rather than purchase a boat, or an island, or use it to garner attention from women way, way, way out of his league, he chooses to invest it in your next billion-dollar idea.

Truth is…you don’t actually have one, you’ve been lying about it for weeks, but you agree to arrange a meeting anyway. Who knows, maybe, on the morning of, a spark of inspiration will hit you and the rest will become history?

You ultimately tell him the truth. That you’re mostly full of sh*t. He responds with, “that doesn’t make any sense. What have you been working on so hard for the least three weeks?”

You consider lying, but he’s already on to you. In the end, you admit that you have been mostly typing nonsense into a Word Document at Starbucks and hoping it miraculously morphed into a best-selling novel.

“So, you’re broke?” he asks.

“Unfortunately, yes,” you reply, “but I do have a few interesting ideas for new businesses.” Now, you’re lying. You actually don’t have any interesting ideas, you still feel guilty for lying the first time and are overcompensating for it.

“Really?”

“No,” you admit, “Not really.”

Long story short, he agrees to spend the day brainstorming with you. Still. Even after all the trickery, and for that, you’re over the moon. In fact, you’re relieved he didn’t murder you for wasting his time. Then again, he is super-mega-rich, and I’m pretty positive his time freed up indefinitely the moment those numbers matched.

So what happens next?

You schedule to meet up at the local co-working space, then get the young attractive receptionist to block off four hours, at 8am Wednesday morning, in something called the Game Room, a conference space designed by and for nostalgic Millennials.

Wednesday morning comes, and the two of you head up to the 10th floor. Your buddy gives you a tiny tour of the building (you’re low-key impressed, but you don’t say anything) which ends with the kitchen. He grabs two tiny glass mugs from the top shelf and offers you a cup of coffee. And then you smile and say: “I will gladly accept this coffee from you, but…only if I get to wash it down with a shot of whiskey and a side of organic beef jerky.”

Your friend looks at you, then says “It’s 7:58 in the morning?”

You say “it’s how I wake up,” and then you nod until the silence goes weird, but it’s already too late. Before you know it, you’re in the elevator and it’s 8:03 am. You try to strike up another meeting, but your friend has unanimously decided to invest in real estate and has already deleted your number and unfriended you on Facebook.

Sorry bro, that’s just how these things play out. I’m just the messenger. Remember that.

In Conclusion…

Milk Enthusiasts, you’re annoying, that’s it. I’m not gonna try and change you, I just hope you know that I find your vocal obsession with milk is utterly digusting…and you all should be tried for treason in a military triunal. Nah, I’m just kidding, it’s just crazy annoying.

I enjoy dry cereal, but you don’t hear me bragging about the box of Frosted Cheerios I demolished when the Super Mario Bros movie first dropped on Peacock.

And you know what else?

I…did it…without milk.

And you know why? Because it was actually HoneyCombs, and…now that I think about it, it is a little embarrassing.

No, no, it’s not embarrassing…I’m gonna own it, confidently. Like an adult…who watched the Super Mario movie alone. And then again, multiple times with his sister’s kids because she was exhausted and needed a moment (or 90) to herself.

It worked, by the way. The kids were hypnotized and, most importantly, quiet.

Alright, so I guess, what I’m really, truly, trying to say is…

KNOCK IT OFF…you’re bugging the world.

That and you sound like every vegetarian that ever existed…constantly reminding everyone that you prefer the bland taste of almonds and tofu over chicken and lamb as though doing so will reward you with virtue.

“I eat soy because animals have feelings.”

“You know animals eat each other, right?”

“…says who?”

“Says Mr. Tiger, who just recently ate Mr. Gazelle. And Mr. and Mrs. Weasel, who just ripped The Chicken Family into tiny bloody pieces–for sport–and left them lifeless on the side of Wire Coop Lane. At least, carnivores use the meat, and keep the cycle of life going.”

And I say that as a dude who went vegetarian for a few months cuz the new age vegans sold a propaganda film to one of the big streaming services, and I bought it…until a platter of chicken nachos walked across my table one chilly November night back in 2018 and made some very deratory things about Asian people…so, you’re welcome, China.

MY POINT IS…you’re not special, and noone cares.

Alright…they gone yet? No? Really?

Cheers to…life’s quirks and finding humor in the unexpected, whether it’s an aggressive driver trying to shift traffic, a shot of whiskey at an 8am business meeting, a slice of cake at a child’s birthday part, or a…*closing my eyes*…big glass of milk.

I hope this ridiculous rant finds you well and, hopefully, brought a smile to your face and a light-hearted chuckle to your soul.