The Forgotten Milk Spill

There was a time, long ago, set adrift in the afternoons of careless frolic and fridge raids, when milk was spilt with reckless abandon.

Some said laughingly, "Don't cry!" yet we cried for freedom, not for milk. When bottles stood too close to the edge, we made legends.

"Remember the Laundry Soap Flood of '08?" whispered Grandma as she swept the memory beneath kitchen panels.

Time, like spilled milk, moves across tiles—sometimes making unexpected shapes, each step a soggy squish of destiny. The chronicles of our kitchen are written in footprints of the accidentally lactose-rich.