Spilled milk

On the weekends Mama & Papa like to make coffee. I don’t know what this is but they seem to think it’s very important.

While the kitchen was unattended and the coffee machine started to whistle and squeak, I jumped onto the bench for a closer look. This was a brave move since counter cruising can earn me time in the Sin Bin. The Sin Bin is also my bedroom but not fun to be in unless it’s sleepy time.

Next to the warm coffee machine was a silver jug of heaven. Milk, full to the brim. I have a penchant for pushing things over edges. Rings, bottle tops, mousies, hair pins, coins, vases.

So I pushed the jug off the counter. It splashed to the floor, spilling deliciousness in every corner.

Whoever cried over spilled milk was an idiot.