Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk Chocolate

It's not a big deal, they say.

Don't make mountains out of molehills, they say.

Learn to laugh at yourself, they say.

Don't cry over spilled milk, they say.

Well in my case, they'd say don't cry over spilled milk chocolate.

And now I shall tell you the story. Its one of my funnier ones, really. But I don't know how to make it funny without telling it out loud. I attempted at making this entry a video of myself animatedly telling the tale so you could get the full effect of the drama through my many facial expressions, hand gestures, and dramatic voices... but man the process of sitting in front of a computer and talking to yourself feels pretty dang awkward, so I gave up on that. We'll stick with words on the screen this time. Just know that if you ask for the story in person, it'll be a much more thoroughly entertaining experience.

So, I spent the 4th of July with my friend Kailin's extended family. She was visiting in town to see them, and since I had no big plans of my own she graciously invited me to join them in their family festivities. We were among the first to arrive for this large holiday gathering, and it didn't take long before they started to spoil us with goodies. In no time at all, I was handed my first ever Klondike Bar. What a delicious monstrosity it is. Well considering my track record for mess making, I was well aware of my need to eat my treat carefully so as not to ruin the cute (if I may say so myself) clothes I was wearing. I handled it with care and did my very best to stay clean. I was down to just a few more bites when a tiny little fleck of the hard chocolate shell dropped onto my shirt. Dang. I failed. At first I was going to be really upset about it. Here I was, a stranger in this family's home, and now I look like the fool who clearly needs to eat with a bib on. But then I thought to myself, oh no don't be silly, its a tiny little dot of chocolate that surely no one will notice as much as you do. So I let it go and moved on, determined to not let it ruin my evening among a group of kind and pleasant people. It was about a half hour later as I was on my way to becoming the winner of Phase 10 (pff, I ended up losing by 3 points) that I happened to look down at my shirt again, and I was shocked to discover that it was completely covered in chocolate. I am not exaggerating people, it practically looked like I had taken that entire Klondike bar and rubbed it all over my stomach, trying to consume it through osmosis or something. How could such a thing happen when I was so meticulously careful as I ate it?! Now I was feeling really embarrassed. My newish blue and white striped shirt was surely doomed, and there was no way to avoid that fact that this girl is lookin' like a complete slob to everyone around her. Oh well, I encouraged myself, its just a shirt. Its not a big deal. You'll just have to poke fun at yourself all day for being clumsy, laugh it off, and move on with it. At least I didn't get it on my beautiful white shorts, right? WRONG. Not fifteen minutes later I looked down yet again to find that my previously spotless shorts were now quite spotted with even more melted milk chocolate!! ARGHHH!!! Okay, this was that point where I had to decide whether to cry of embarrassment or throw my hands up in the air, laugh, and accept that this ridiculous thing was happening to me. I decided on the latter. I was a melty milk chocolately mess practically from head to foot, and there was nothing I could do about it... or was there? I tried to stealthily excuse myself from the game table and requested from our host a white rag, and then I proceeded to lock myself in the bathroom and go to town scrubbing my clothing by hand. I had no hope of removing all the stains, but surely doing this would be better than parading around my mess all day long, apologizing for my distracting appearance. And then, my Independence Day miracle took place. I don't know if I had some founding father angels helping me out with some secret magical 1776 soap or what, but the stains started to disappear. Not fade, but completely disappear. With each scrub of the rag, my clothes got nearer and nearer to perfection, until you could no longer even tell that anything had spilled on them at all. 20 minutes later, after using a handy hairdryer to dry my soaked (but clean!) clothes, I made my way back out to greet the rest of the family members that had arrived, free of any embarrassment or need to explain myself.

Sometimes, I let things become a bigger deal than they are. I turn the insignificant molehills into looming mountains. I kick myself and become embarrassed over the little things instead of laughing them off. I let myself cry over spilled milk (okay, it would take quite a significant amount of milk on the kitchen floor to actually bring tears to my eyes, but you know what I mean). Over the years and through a lot of experiences I have learned that this is no way to live. Why make things harder than they are when you can turn it into a fun experience, a new adventure, or a funny story to tell your kids about someday? Its silly, but the spilled chocolate was a learning experience for me. As much as I was tempted to be overwhelmingly embarrassed by it, I took a step back and asked myself how much it really mattered. Did I really care what people thought about me just because I clearly am someone who should bring a change of clothes everywhere I go? Was this experience going to matter in the grand eternal scheme of things? Of course not. In fact, it was rather humorous, and I could make it into a much more bearable and rewarding experience by laughing it up, poking harmless fun at myself, and not taking myself too seriously. This isn't always possible or even the best thing to do in every situation, but for me this time it was. I'm glad I can learn to turn embarrassment into smiles. Its just a better way to live.