No Use Crying Over Spilled Milk

I was really in the mood for pancakes today. So, we headed out this morning for a late breakfast at the Honey Bee Diner in good 'ol Glen Burnie. The Honey Bee is a great place for a quick reasonably priced greasy diner meal. Plus, it is gay owned, so we try to eat there often to "support the community."

We got into the diner, picked a seat and the waitress greeted us shortly thereafter and took our orders. I requested my usual breakfast order, a short stack of pancakes, white toast and a chocolate milk. I like to wash the pancakes down with a cold glass of chocolate milk, so I always ask for the milk to be brought out with the pancakes. Mumi ordered a side of ham and a side of home fries. The diner was not as crowded today as it could have been, so our food was ready pretty quickly. And, just like I requested, the waitress waited until the food was ready before she brought my milk out.

And this is where the story turns ugly...

I saw the waitress approaching with my glass of chocolate milk. It was a tall, frosty delicious glass of chocolate milk. I could almost feel it's cold and creamy, chocolatey goodness sliding down the back of my throat. I was so sure that it was going to be one of the best glasses of chocolate milk that I had ever had. I can't even remember the last time that I had gotten so excited over a glass of chocolate milk. The waitress got to our table and went to set the glass down on the table.

And, that's when it happened.

The next few seconds actually occurred in slow motion. The waitress started to set the glass of milk down on table in front of me. She let go of the glass just a split second before it was actually touching the table. The glass started to tip. Milk started to swirl around the rim of the glass getting closer and closer to the edge of the glass. The glass became unsteady from the motion of the gushing milk and started to tip. More milk spilled out over the top of the glass. The force of gravity became too strong for the meager little glass of milk to fight. It toppled over as I screamed "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" inside my head.(Remember, all of this happened in slow motion, so the scream was probably about 8 seconds long or so.) But, it was too late. The glass tipped all of the way over, spilling it's contents all over the Formica tabletop.

It is truly amazing how much milk is actually in a small tumbler. The tidal wave of chocolate moo juice spread very quickly over the tabletop, and when the table surface could no longer contain the rushing ocean of mammary fluids, it proceeded to spill over the edge of the table and right into my lap. Gallons and gallons of cold chocolate milk suddenly poured onto my crotch splashing all over my shorts and my shirt. I guess I picked the wrong day to wear white, huh?



The waitress got a look on her face like she was either going to cry or laugh or possibly laugh so hard that she would cry, I couldn't tell which. Of course, me being the nice guy that I am, I immediately told the waitress not to worry about it. It was no big deal. Here I am sitting in a puddle of two-percent chocolate titty water looking like I might have just had the absolute worst case of explosive diarrhea ever and I say it's no big deal.

The waitress apologized profusely, got me napkins and a wet towel and helped clean up the mess the best that she could. One of the cute gay owners came over and apologized also. He asked me if I needed more towels, more chocolate milk or a clean pair of shorts. And, even though for a split second, I imagined how much fun it would have been to go into the back office and swap shorts with him, I politely declined his offers. He let us know that we would not have to pay for our meal today. That was nice. If I had known how the events of the day were going to turn out, I certainly would have ordered something much more expensive though!

Only a few minutes later, still sitting there a little wet with big brown stains all over my white shorts, I started to laugh. This is funny stuff I thought to myself. I could get angry. I could be a real bitch about it, but what good would that do? Instead, I thought about how funny the situation actually was. I mean, if it had happened to the people sitting next to me, I am sure that I would be biting my tongue to keep from laughing, so why not laugh at myself. And, you know what? It felt really good. Laughing at myself, that is.