Lisa started lactating the other day. She called me at work hysterical.
“There’s yellow stuff coming out of my nipples!”
I gagged a little.
I’m so dissapointed in myself. I was so gung-ho for tasting breast milk. And the whole dairy business, too. Making butter, cheese, ice cream, yogurt. Now it looks like the overalls and bag balm will have to wait.
I told a co-worker about it. She said that I really needed to taste it. Warm and sweet, she said. I gagged again.
I hope this is just a phase, and I’ll warm up to the idea over time. Maybe once it’s been flowing a little while and isn’t yellow and doesn’t look like she’s squeezing pus out of a massive zit (sorry honey).
When I was three years old, I ate a whole jar of olives in one sitting and made myself viciously sick. I didn’t eat olives again until I was 29 years old. Now I love them. It was just a state of mind. I let one bad experience keep me revulsed for 26 years. It’s like being in prison.
I’m determined to suck it up (figuratively speaking), face my fears and taste it. I’ll bet it’s good. Before you know it, I’ll be mixing it with strawberry Quick.