Few things in my life are more consistent than milk. My morning begins with milk and three eggs, a high protein breakfast to power me up for my day. After school, I work at an ice cream parlor where scooping a customer milky, mouth watering ice cream...
Few things in my life are more consistent than milk. My morning begins with milk and three eggs, a high protein breakfast to power me up for my day. After school, I work at an ice cream parlor where scooping a customer's milky, mouth watering ice cream is my job. When I return home, my family is almost always out of milk. This calls for a snowy 200 yard walk to the corner store, where Bob, the jovial owner, rings up $3.57 as soon as I enter the door. Small towns learn from habit. With the two percent delight packed safely under one arm, I head home to finish the day properly with my father, munching on chocolate chip cookies. Our nightly indulge is preceded by Nesquick powder, perfectly poured into creamy milk and swirled three times for optimal drinking pleasure.
Sometimes the milk doesn't even end there. I'm lucky enough to live in the Finger Lakes, a land of wineries and Amish. Occasionally my parents and I load into the old Chevy and drive down visit Horace and Annie, an Amish couple that owns a dairy farm. There is nothing quite like bringing a jar home of warm milk, squeezed just minutes before.
Milk is essential to my life. It is my breakfast, my job, my bonding time with my father, and my connection to the community. Hot or cold, skim or whole, plain or chocolate; I've "Got Milk".
Few things in my life are more consistent than milk. My morning begins with milk and three eggs, a high protein breakfast to power me up for my day. After school, I work at an ice cream parlor where scooping a customer's milky, mouth watering ice cream is my job. When I return home, my family is almost always out of milk. This calls for a snowy 200 yard walk to the corner store, where Bob, the jovial owner, rings up $3.57 as soon as I enter the door. Small towns learn from habit. With the two percent delight packed safely under one arm, I head home to finish the day properly with my father, munching on chocolate chip cookies. Our nightly indulge is preceded by Nesquick powder, perfectly poured into creamy milk and swirled three times for optimal drinking pleasure.
Sometimes the milk doesn't even end there. I'm lucky enough to live in the Finger Lakes, a land of wineries and Amish. Occasionally my parents and I load into the old Chevy and drive down visit Horace and Annie, an Amish couple that owns a dairy farm. There is nothing quite like bringing a jar home of warm milk, squeezed just minutes before.
Milk is essential to my life. It is my breakfast, my job, my bonding time with my father, and my connection to the community. Hot or cold, skim or whole, plain or chocolate; I've "Got Milk".
