We needed some bread and were out of milk, so I stepped out to go to the grocery store. I told Mike he had to finish his homework before he could play any video games or watch TV. He yelled, “Whatever, mom!” I rolled my eyes and walked out the door to the garage.
It was 95 and so humid I felt like I was swimming through the air. At the grocery, I got the necessities and a few things for dinner and remembered I had to go by the post office. I texted my son and told him I’d be home in 10 minutes.
After the post office, I got back in the baking car and cranked the A/C to zero effect. Arriving home, I drove into the garage, and grabbed a couple sacks of groceries. I was really, really looking forward to getting in the cool house.
I walked in the kitchen and called out, “Mike! Honey! Come help bring in the groceries!”
That’s when I first noticed. Dropping the gallon of milk, it exploded like a grenade, spraying milk everywhere within a mile radius.
Brad Pitt was in my living room, fighting with Mike. “Let me get out of this head lock, Mom,” Mike called back, trying a kidney punch.
Fight Club? In my living room? I fainted. A milk splashdown.