My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard - Day 8 of 35 days to 35

Milk and I are not friends. We never have been. According to my mom, when she tried to give me cow's milk for the first time, I refused to drink it.  This was follwed by several more attempts to convince me that I really did like milk, none of which worked. Let me say that this is not a lactose intolerance thing, I love almost all other dairy. It is just milik I can't stand: I hate the smell, I hate the way it looks, and mostly I hate that people always tried to make me drink it. Let me also say that I have truly made attempts to drink milk in the past.  The last time I tried to befriend milk was in the fouth grade.  My mother, feeling the pressure from my grandmother, whose constant refrain of "Make those kids drinnk milk! It's just not healthy! It's not right!" rang in her ears, decided that it was time for Charlene and I to get over this aversion to milk. So she made a deal with us: If we drank our milk at school that day, we could get a new Barbie.  These were extremely high stakes to a couple of ten year olds who prided themselves on their huge Barbie collection (we had the dream house, the dream cottage, the corvette, the pool and almost the entire Barbie wardrobe).  So armed with as much determination as a ten year old could muster, we headed to school with every intention of drinking that milk and receiveing the coveted new Barbie.  The morning flies by, and the next thing I know, I am in the cafeteria staring at my rubbery corndog, cold fries, mushy peaches and that ugly, nasty carton of milk. I don't think I have ever eaten a meal so slowly in my life, dreading the moment when all of the food was gone and it would just be me and the milk. I keep glancing at the clock and realize that lunch will be over very soon. I open the milk carton (which I always thought was the only cool thing about milk) and stare at the yucky white liqid. There is a lump in my throat the size of Texas and I just know there is no way I will be able to get this down.  I look at Charlene, who has the same pained look on her face, and say "You ready?"
Together we pick up our cartons and touch it to our lips, eyes squeezed shut and saying a silent prayer that i won't puke all over the the cafeteria (after all, who wants to be puke girl at school? You know every school had one, you can probably still remember her name!).  I let the cold liquid touch my lips and I try my best to will them open a little more so I can take a real drink.  I get what probably amounts to a teaspoon of milk in my mouth and slam the carton back on the lunch table, gagging and trying not to cry.  I didn't see if Charlene actually tried hers but when I looked up she had already put her carton down.  The vision of my new Barbie begins to fade as I realize that I am not going to be able to do it.  I want to cry.  Then Charlene looks at me and says "You know, mom will never know that we didn't drink the milk. We can just tell her we did and we still get the Barbie".  I hadn't thought of this option. The fact is, I had a deeply held belief that my mom knew EVERYTHING and if we lied she would surely find out. But I chewed on this idea for the rest of the school day and by the time the last bell rang I had convinced myself that I would sell the lie. I really wanted that damn Barbie!!
The rest of the evening goes by slower than ever but we finally find ourselves in Fred Meyer aka Barbie Heaven.  As soon as we walk in we make a beeline for toy section and grab our prizes.  My excitement was slightly tempered by the fact that I would be getting this Barbie by lying, but Charlene kept insistng that it wasn't a big deal, that we actually did drink some milk just not ALL of the milk so we weren't really lying.  So I am back on board with "the lie".  Mom finishes her shopping and gets in the LONGEST line in the store. Looking down at us she says, "You all must have really wanted that Barbie. I am so proud of you, drinking all of your milk without even having me around to make you do it. You should feel really good. I bet you can't wait to get home and play with her."  The more she talked, the smaller I felt. I couldn't do it. The Barbie would be tainted and the guilt would eat away at my little 10 year old conscience.  So I spoke up. I told her that I tried, I really, really tried to drink the milk, but I just couldn't. I said I didn't think it was fair that I should get the Barbie when I didn't do what I was supposed to. Now this entire time, Charlene is shooting daggars with her eyes and I swear I can see steam coming from her ears.  But I couldn't stick with it. I was sure she knew we were lying anyway, so I might as well tell the truth.  I brace myself for her "I'm so disappointed in you" speech, but instead she says "Thank you for telling the truth. You can still have the Barbie".  Then she turns to Charlene and says "Did you drink your milk?". Charlene gives me one last death glare then smiles sweetly at mom and says "Yep, I sure did!" I don't think mom believed her but she let her get the Barbie anyway.  BITTER PARTY OF ONE!!!
I have stayed far away from milk and anything milk-like since then, forgoing cereal for breakfast and yes, milkshakes.  So it's time. It's time to make peace with milk and at least try a milkshake.   So that is how we have arrived here...my almost 35 year old ass, sitting in my living room, staring at this small strawberry shake like is is laced with anthrax. I can't bring myself to pick it up. I sooo don't want to drink this. I can just imagine how wretched it is going to taste and I am wondering why the hell I put this on my list.  Okay, I picked it up....and walked around with it in my hand for about 15 minutes.  Every time I put the straw to my lips I have flashbacks of that day in the Susitna Elementary School cafeteria and almost gag remembering the milk hitting my tongue.
After about twenty minutes I am so frustrated with myself. This is riduculous! It's just a milkshake. DRINK IT! There is no one here to force me to take more than one sip if it and if i hurl, I'm at home so it doesn't matter.  I take a sip, slowly.........and it tastes like melted strawberry ice cream (which I love, by the way). Another sip goes down as smoothly as the first.  I'm drinking a MILKSHAKE!  I feel so cool.  This is what I have been scared of all this time?  I have been missing out on this frosty goodness because I am a weenie?  Now I feel dumb.  I think it is just the name that I couldn't get past. It said MILKshake so it has to taste like milk right?  Nope. It's yummy! 
Damn. Now I have one more thing to feel guilty about eating....