Mother's Milk

Dear Larry,

Angela, from my work, had a baby recently. Four months ago, I think. A boy. She named him BJ. I told her about the pitfalls of a baby named BJ but she didn't listen. That's beside the point. She came back to work, reluctantly. However, she wanted to breast-feed so employed the pump when she was away from BJ. This, I applaud. It's just so sad that she had to be exiled to some solitary storage closet to do God's work for it is close-minded people that cannot see the beauty of breast-feeding. I don't want to get off on a rant, so I'll just stop there.

So, I get to work one Monday and realize that I have foolishly left my coffee creamer at home. If I don't have creamer then I don't have coffee and if I don't have coffee, then I am one cranky camper. I go visit Sabrina, who is good friends with Angela, and I ask her, do you think that we can steal some of Angela's cream. She keeps it refrigerated, don't you know, because it is milk. Sabrina thinks that it's possible and I keep watch while Sabrina checks the fridge to see if the package is available. Sadly, it was not. Not sure if it was a slow day, milkwise or if Angela simply chose not to milk it that day. At any rate, there was no milk to be had. I was coffeeless. A sad day, by any account.

I was excited at the prospect of having some breastmilk in my coffee for a couple of reasons:

#1. It would have been hot.

and

#2. I would have digested her DNA. I don't know why that excites me but it does. I'm not a Biology major but I think that me drinking her breast milk would have been tantamount to Jeff Goldblum and that fly being teleported to that other pod. I sort of think that after drinking that cup of coffee, I would have taken on some of Angela's qualities. In retrospect, she is a girl and to be honest, I would have hated to walk away with a vagina. So, maybe it all worked out for the best.

Still, it would have been hot.

Glad that I got that off my chest. I said "chest". Brilliant.

Take care,

Paul