A Cup Of Sugar

It was something out of a 1950s sitcom I swear it. Saturday afternoon I was tidying up around the apartment after Friday night’s little soirée. All of a sudden I hear a knock at the door. Intrigued I go to my door and open it to find a pair of very good looking girls standing there. “Hi, Do you have a phone book we can barrow?” Happily I replied that indeed I had a phone book that they would barrow and went to the drawer to get it. They took the phone book smiled and left. A few minutes later they returned and gave it back.

Ok, so what’s the big deal you ask? Shut up and let me continue. This afternoon, while I was lying on the floor writing a paper on biological warfare in the ancient world, there was a knock at my door. I hopped up to answer it. It was one of the same girls from the other day. She had a pink measuring cup in her had and a sheepish look on her face. “Can I barrow two cups of milk”, she said. It was almost too much. How funny is that, the perfect cliché. I of course was more than willing to share my dairy products with her and invited her in while I measure out the proper amount. I asked what she needed it for as I was pouring. “We are making dinner”, she said. “Oh, what are you making tonight”, I asked. “Hamburger helper”, she replied and began to turn red. I said, “No, that just won’t due. You and your room mate will have to come over for dinner sometime”. I handed her the milk, and she thanked me. Smiling and beat red she went back to her apartment.

I hope they come over for dinner sometime. They seemed nice enough. My room mate I am sure would be very appreciative.