Milk And Herring

If it were left up to me, my family would be vegetarian. We would graze the backyard grass for breakfast, lunch and dinner. That's how much I hate shopping for groceries. But in an hour, I'll put my distaste aside. List in hand, I will drive to the store. There, I'll discover I have lost the list. I will shop anyway, knowing that we need milk. We always need milk. Why I ever told the girls to drink lots of milk is unexplainable. Stubby children with weak bones and fragile teeth are happy children. At least I think they are. Daisy and Birdie are always unhappy when the milk runs out. If they didn't miss it, they'd be more content, although perhaps toothless and short. As for Big Guy, he thrives on herring in wine sauce. Every evening, he snacks on it. That keeps the cats lining up for kisses. The rest of us keep our distance. When I go to the store, I'll attempt to buy herring. How hard I'll look for it is debatable. Shopping complete, I will run through the A&W drive-through for a rootbeer float. Or maybe I'll skip the shopping and go straight for the float. If the family gets hungry enough, there's grass to nibble. And it's fresh.