Blech.

When I make trips to the grocery store, I've been known to deviate from the shopping list a little and make an impulse purchase from time to time.

Last night at Stop & Shop, my impulse purchase of choice was some Garelick Farms Ultimate Chocolate Lowfat Milk. Which, on the surface, was a solid impulse choice if there ever was one.

I got home from Stop & Shop. I unloaded the groceries from the car. I ate dinner.

After dinner, I decided to indulge. So I twisted the plastic seal off the gallon jug, popped off the cap and poured myself some chocolate milk.

The first sip was atrociously sour.

It didn't occur to me that the milk might be spoiled. What did occur to me instead was that I was drinking from the same glass I had used while eating dinner. Apparently, I thought, some trace amounts of lemonade had mixed in with the milk. Gross. So I dumped the contaminated milk, rinsed out my glass and refilled.

Again, one sip made me recoil in disgust like those babies eating lemons on YouTube (isn't that the weirdest viral video genre ever, by the way?).

This time, I suspected something might be up with the milk itself. Call me Nancy Drew. But instead of sniffing it like a normal person, I took yet another sip - this time straight from the jug, just to ensure that my possibly-still-lemonadey glass wasn't the source of the problem.

It wasn't.

I told my mom I thought I might've somehow bought spoiled milk. She told me to check the expiration date. I did, and it was still two days away. My mom said that she's usually wary of buying milk that close to expiring and to just get rid of it if it didn't taste right.

Alright.

But I hesitated. I debated with myself for a minute. I didn't want to dispose of a whole gallon of perfectly good Ultimate Chocolate Lowfat Milk. Was it really spoiled, or was it just in my head? I wanted, again, to blame the lemonade. I had it in for the lemonade. Maybe it wasn't the glass, but maybe the taste of lemonade was still in my mouth, and the milk just seemed sour as a consequence. But I pushed aside these nagging doubts, grabbed the jug and began to pour its contents into the kitchen sink.

Remorse over my possible wastefulness kicked in as soon as the milk began swirling down the drain - until it stopped swirling about two thirds of the way through the gallon, as the milk started pouring in a thick, lumpy sludge. I gagged.

That milk was Bad with a capital "B."

Blech.