I have several neuroses revolving around that breakfast favorite known as Milk. My husband has learned to deal with them, even if he shakes his head at me sometimes.
I refuse to drink milk if the jug has been out of the fridge longer than one minute. If I see that milk has been left sitting out for longer than that, I will never drink from that jug again.
Because of this, I have to put the milk away as soon as I get it out of the fridge. It’s almost a race in my mind to see how fast I can pour milk and get it back into the fridge.
I only like to drink milk out of a glass or ceramic cup. If you see me with a coffee mug, it’s full of milk. For some reason in my mind, this keeps my milk colder longer. No plastic cups allowed.
The minute my milk starts to get warm, I’ll pour it down the drain. Warm milk makes me want to hurl.
Anything that is milky without being actual milk, I won’t eat. This includes fresh mozzarella and cottage cheese. They make me want to hurl. They both remind me of spoiled milk.
All of these neuroses stem from the fact I had bad milk once. ONCE!