I don’t drink milk for two reasons: first, it does horrible things to my insides. Second, I really don’t like it and tend to overlook it in my fridge. This creates a problem because I often buy a small carton or jug of the stuff for baking or for The Electrician’s Golden Grahams, then promptly tuck it into the refrigerator door, never to think about it again.

Right now, my fridge is in dire straits because I completely forgot about several thingers of milk, and now I’m too afraid to move them. Oddly, the fridge doesn’t smell like sour milk, perhaps because I’ve bypassed sour milk and simply made some evil sort of cheese. I’ve noticed them, especially when I tuck a new thing of milk I’m probably not going to drink into the door, but I’m afraid of the old milk lurking in my fridge.

I also don’t want to just pour the contents of these cartons down the toilet, because then I fear the dollhouse really will smell like sour dairy. I am also reluctant to fire them into the garbage because they will surely attract frightening things, like the Northern Cheese Eating Squirrel, which weighs in at seven pounds and will terrorize the neighbours’ stupid flowerbed pooping cat. I also worry about them leaking/splashing/chunking all over the garbage man, a concern based partly in my love for my fellow human being, but also partly created by the selfish knowledge that ticking off the garbage collector will not go well for me.

Here’s my plan: it’s garbage day tomorrow. I’m going to clear a bit of space in my freezer drawer for the cartons of milk to stand upright, and then I’m going to freeze those badboys overnight. Garbage needs to be taken to the curb before 7 am, so if I set an alarm for 6:30, I’ll have time to double triple bag the frozen milk and carry them out to the cans in the early morning, where they will stay pretty solid until well after the garbage men in their snazzy truck pick them up and remove them from my life forever.

Why am I telling you all this, readers of my wee blog? I promised to discuss life as it really happens to me (whether it’s my fault or not) and this situation is as real life as it gets. I’ve got milk in my fridge from as far back as May, which is nasty and embarrassing, but it’s on the way out in the morning, and the traditional teacher on summer holiday massive house cleaning will be well underway.

Admit it, folks, you’ve left something in the fridge far longer than you should because it frightens you. I’m just brave enough to write about it.

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