An Incident I Regret
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Recently I made myself a chai latte. I am fond of chai lattes. They make my non-tea-and-coffee-drinking self feel like a grownup at cafes which don’t serve iced chocolates. And this particular chai latte was made from some incredibly delicious chai latte mix I got at the Food Show. It is a sweet, spicy, creamy nectar of the gods, and simple enough to make in the dark.
This proved to be regrettable.
You see, I had invited my mother and sister over for dinner, and, seeking a bit of light and airy escapism, we were watching The Shawshank Redemption. This is a long movie. So when the urge for a chai latte overcame me, I refrained from pausing the movie out of respect for my mother’s bedtime and quietly sneaked around the kitchen.
The latte was delicious. I slurped it happily to soothing scenes of prison violence – out of a soup spoon, because there was froth and I am a pig. (Seriously though, it’s by far the best way to drink milk-froth.)
Seven-eighths of the way through (the latte, not the movie) I schlped another spoonful. My lips met a sort of congealed, slimy mass. “Ew”, I thought, “the milk skin’s gone all oobly”. I tipped it back in and had a couple more spoonfuls. I met it again. Off-put, I put down the mug and continued watching.
Then a slight niggle of doubt began to creep into my mind. I wondered how milk-skin could survive the intense frothing process a chai latte requires. Some time later, I remembered that the milk-frother is kept on a windowsill regrettably prone to slugfestations. Shortly after that I remembered actually finding a slug on the milk-frother a few weeks ago.
The movie ended. I tipped the rest of my chai latte into the sink and viewed the dregs. And for some time afterwards my mood could best be described as pensive.