Scene: My husband, daughter and I sitting around the table, all in our PJ’s looking rough from a night of teething hell. I’m slowly feeding my daughter pancakes as my husband eats the sloppy oatmeal she refused. I notice there isn’t enough milk in my coffee….
Me: honey, can you please get me a bit more milk for my coffee?
Husband picks up daughter’s sippy cup, filled with milk, and starts sleepily shaking it upside down over my mug. Nothing comes out. He shakes harder. Still, nothing. After what seems like minutes of my daughter and I watching him attempt – with increasing violence – to shake but a single drop from the baby’s cup, I interject.
Me: darling, they build those so that can’t happen.
Husband looks at me, with dead eyes, and, blinking slowly, gets up to bring me the carton.