Why the hell would I cry over spilled milk? I might cry over spilled margarita or spilled tomato soup or spilled medium-rare steak tips.
I might even cry over bra spillage, tampon spillage, or runny nose spillage.
I often cry from taking a spill, especially if it's in front of an audience.
I can see myself crying from spilling my wallet, spilling my brains, or spilling the beans.
I'd even shed a few tears over an oil spill, a gas spill, or a chemical spill.
But, really. Spilled milk? Unless I spill it down my entire front side at work, or into the seat of my pants while I'm driving, or into my socks and boots while I'm still wearing them, I still can't see it.So I suppose that means I've joined the ranks of those who do not cry over spilled milk.
The fact that it's still four more days (including today) until I get a break from school and also the fact that it's zero or below outside (not including wind chill) -- That's worth crying over.
Screw you, milk. Get in line if you want to make me cry.
