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The Milkshake

the-milkshake

Dividing time between five young ones can be a daunting experience if not staying organized — and even so, the occasional avalanche is inevitable. In this instance, my daughter wanted to go on a special time with her daddy.

Occasionally we’ll go to grandma’s house where there are fun prospects, including toys that are not often played with. There are also long country roads for walking on where we can explore and be silly. There on a walk one time, my son spotted a tarantula that we took some great photos of.

Anyway, in this instance, my daughter and I went to an A&W restaurant. Fast food outings are fun  —  scoring occasional happy meal toys make it even better. Two hamburgers with nothing on them except for meat and cheese, and a chocolate milkshake on the side  —  it was the usual. Sometimes she will finish eating at home — but not this time.

“Daddy, I want to save my milkshake for later,” she says. I never think much of it. More or less, “Ok, whatever…” is my response. That’s usually what all the kids say after we’ve gotten back from a snack adventure. They almost always want to save it for later.

She put the milkshake in the freezer and ran off to play. Around two hours later I got hungry and went searching for something to suffice. I had actually forgotten about the milkshake.

I opened the freezer door and the creamy, cold cup of deliciousness my daughter had been savoring flew straight out, hit me, and splattered everywhere —  on me, on the refrigerator door, on the floor, and under the refrigerator. I stood there speechless for a few moments. Tempted to think, “This is what I get for being a good daddy,” I sucked it up and hunted down some paper towels.

This content reflects the personal opinions of the author. It is accurate and true to the best of the author’s knowledge and should not be substituted for impartial fact or advice in legal, political, or personal matters.

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© 2022 Dan Martino

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