When I moved home from college for the summer, I entered into a completely different living situation from the one I left behind nine months prior.
My brother took my old, spacious, black-painted, ultra-Goth lair, painted it grey, moved all of his gaming systems in there, and made himself comfortable. I was placed in his old bedroom. It’s as big as a decent-sized closet. When I lay my head down to rest, I am surrounded by four olive-drab walls with matching camouflage décor from his goofy childhood G.I. Joe phase. The bed is smaller and less comfortable than my art-school dorm-room bed.
One of the biggest changes in my current living situation is the fact that my dad’s long-time girlfriend and her teenage son have moved in. The house is somewhat divided. We have different habits, interests, and schedules. It’s very easy to see the difference in personality and sense of humor that separates us just by a quick glance at the Netflix “Recently Watched” section.
Mainly, our diets clash. The freezer I left nine months ago is now stacked high with Pizza Rolls, Bagel Bites, and pancake-sausage corn dogs. I was inexplicably welcomed home to a borderline-retarded amount of ranch dressing. But the issue that really divides us as a household, that has proven problematic time and time again, is our stances on the sickening mammalian teat secretion known and loved around the world as milk.
My dad, brother, and I have pretty much always lived by the “milk is an ingredient, not a drink” rule. Sure, maybe a small glass here or there if it complements the food. But for the most part, milk on its own is not a part of our diets. I physically cannot drink normal dairy milk anymore after nearly a year of only drinking almond milk. After that, dairy milk—even skim—tastes like heavy cream. Forget 1%, you might as well pour half-and-half in my cereal.
My dad’s girlfriend and her son are huge milk-drinkers. They will drink a damn trough of milk with every meal. Nothing sickens me more than the idea of drinking a tall glass of milk with, say, tacos. But they will throw that disgusting liquid down their gullet with nary a care. The mixture of spicy beef flavoring and creamy white cow’s milk truly makes me gag. One of my closest friends had a traumatic experience as a child where she witnessed a classmate dump taco meat into his milk carton and then suck it up through the straw. She vomited immediately and hasn’t touched milk since. I used to think that was an overreaction. But watching these people drink milk like they do, I completely understand where she is coming from.
An argument broke out the other night while my dad and his girlfriend were watching TV. We rag on her incessantly for the amount of milk she and her boy consume. We tell her how bad milk is for you and why she shouldn’t drink it. It’s all very lighthearted, but that night, it seemed as if she had enough.
Yelling ensued. A back-and-forth of anti- and pro-milk insults flew through the air. My dad viciously spat out the words “milk-drinking motherfucker from Allegan County” in her direction. She called him a pretentious asshole. I sat in between the crossfire and nearly died from laughing so hard at what I believe is the most asinine fight to ever happen. As a result of that fight, my dad’s girlfriend passive-aggressively stopped drinking milk to prove some sort of point. Of course, that backfired, and after a week of sipping nothing but sweet almond milk, her gastrointestinal issues have subsided, and she is much happier now, as displayed by this string of emoticons she sent me.
Any quick Google search will tell you that milk is bad for you. Unless it’s coming from your own mother’s tit and you are but a newborn infant, don’t drink it, you sick little bitch.