When I was younger, I used to take eggs from the fridge. I would hold them in my hands, watch, and wait. They never became chickens, which made me sad, but eventually happy, because it set me down the path of discovering milk.
The milk was always above the eggs in the fridge, so when I realized that eggs didn’t work the way I thought they would, I made a choice. I reached for the carton. Rather, I asked my mom if I could try the mysterious liquid of the refrigerator’s third floor. I was five. I was curious. And I was thirsty. And so I drank that 2% like my life depended on it.
By ten, I had made a fateful transition. Relegating watery 2% to the past, I made the transition to Whole. And boy did it complete me! But this wasn’t to last. After three years of blissful milk-consumption, I read an article on Aol.com that said milk could be a carcinogen. I didn’t want to get cancer and die, so I did the drastic: I stopped drinking milk.
It was only five years later, and not necessarily in my correct mind, but oh was it my right one, that I caved—not because I was any less scared of cancer; I just missed my milk that much.
You see, I’ve never broken a bone. I’ve never broken a bone, and, for years, I drank at least a tall glass of ice cold milk with every meal. Is this just a coincidence? I don’t think so. Spanning not only cultures, but also species, milk unites the creatures of the earth. As an infant, milk is the crucial source of calcium that sculpts the skeleton. As a college student, milk is the crucial source of moisture that makes Oreos taste much better. Milk, in all its forms, is not simply delicious. It is necessary.
Milk is not just a delicious, refreshing and nutritional beverage. It is also a colloidal-suspension, which sounds cool.