I remember being a little kid at the dinner table. We'd help Mom set the table and we'd all sit up to eat. Dad would sit down and Mom would ask what we wanted to drink for dinner.
"MILK!"
Mom would first pour Dad a nice, tall glass of milk. Then she'd turn her back and start pouring smaller glasses for us. As we sat at the table waiting for Mom to sit down, we'd watch Dad tank that glass of milk - gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp.
Mom would be done pouring for us and for herself and walking back to the fridge to put the jug away. Dad would then say, "HEY! I didn't get any!"
Dad's glass always had mysterious streaks of milk inside even though he "didn't get any."
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As an adult, I realized how much of a country boy Dad was. He would only ever drink whole milk, and to him that was barely acceptable. He'd be much happier in the mountains laying under a cow and squirting milk from the source. To his city-girl daughter, that seems so unsanitary!
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