Lactose Tolerant

Polyamorous is not a label that I subscribe to enthusiastically, but in the context of all things dairy, it’s quite hard for me to deny. I’ll just start by saying that the rumors are true: I’m in a relationship with Brie cheese, I will choose yogurt over you any day, and milk and I have had a tumultuous affair for decades. In my own defense, however, I must add that the industrial agriculture complex made me this way. Milk is not just a cow in your backyard anymore, folks. It’s errrywhere, which is why I’m finally coming out. 

Milk was never meant to be my mistress, because, after all, consider the facts. Why are we, humans, with (somewhat) intelligent minds so hooked on the life-milk of another animal? Imagine the contrast, a cow suckling at your own breast. (Yea, I said suckling.) Is it weird now? You bet it is.

Never-before-seen photo of Justin Timberlake suckling on that good udder.

We’ve all been seduced by cows. No one wants to look like JT in the pic above, but this is our reality. We’ve all fallen hard. Especially me. 

Mothers Against Cow Suckling (MACS)

I was probably a classified milk-addict by age five. I mean, I was fed ice cream as a baby. The man that worked at the ice cream store would yell, “You can’t feed ice cream to a baby!!” But they did, and I gave them that did-that-baby-just-poop-or-eat-ice-cream face. He still works there and still gives me ice cream. And I still give him that face.

It comes down to this: if it were still 2008, my AT&T Fave 5 would consist of ice cream, milk, cheese, butter, and yogurt (greek, baby). They’re my booty calls. They may give me acne and cellulite, but they know what I like, and that’s all that matters.

At the end of the day, dairy products are just plain good lovers. They call when they say they will, are always free on Valentine’s Day, and essentially always have read-receipts on and respond within seconds. They comfort me in ways that humans just can’t. Here’s a glimpse into our loving, supportive relationship:

Me: I had such a rough night. That party wasn’t fun at all, no one talked to me, and I was shoved into a coat rack…

Milk: Oh, no. That sounds like a really shitty night. I’m here with chocolate syrup if you want to stop by the fridge. We won’t shove you into a coat rack.

 

Me: I know it’s really early in the morning but—

Butter: Babe, I’m here for you. Come on over. Bring an English muffin.  

 

Me: This was the WORST day ever. I basically cried in front of everyone that I talked to and—

Cheese: Shhhh. Grill me. You’re safe now.  

 

It’s undeniable. The love is real and here to stay, despite what vegans might tell me. Dairy products love me for who I am. They say, “Hey babe, I love your curves… especially because I’m the one who gave them to you.”

Images via, via, and via Caroline Zerilli.