I am the product of two individuals: my mama and my dad. I got genes from both of them! That’s a pretty sweet deal if you ask me. Except when they conflict with each other (my genes, not my parents).

My father, who can cut people open, take other people out of them, and sew those people back up, cannot cut a milk bag to save his life. My mother however, ushers in the Renaissance of milk baggery. She is a virtuoso of corner cutting.** Her deft precision in hewing small segments of bag is only matched by her accuracy in shearing off isosceles snippets of plastic. To drink from these bags is to taste ambrosia, to stare Loki in the face and laugh, to know the feeling of slaying the Nemean Lion.

I have inherited both of these traits from my parents. I possess the ability to inspire poets and painters through cutting the milk bag, or to tear the world asunder through my impropriety.

*I am not a scientist
**But not cutting corners! Yeah, you see what I did there

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