When the milk you spilled is the last bit of milk in your house, and you can’t stomach drinking your coffee black.

When the milk you spilled splatters all over the nice button-down shirt you ironed for your annual performance review with your boss, which is the only time of the year you iron.

When the milk you spilled gets into every crevice of your floor, stove, and cupboards, making everything permanently sticky.

When the milk you spilled is your homemade almond milk, which you made by soaking the almonds for eight hours, rinsing the almonds, blending the almonds, and straining the almonds through a nut milk bag.

When the milk you spilled on your button-down forces you to wear your only other clean shirt—a t-shirt with the quote, “It’s wine o’clock somewhere!”

When the milk you spilled is the only thing you talk about during your performance review, no matter how many times your boss tries to get you to discuss the revenue report.

When the milk you spilled is the Coffee mate creamer that explodes onto your “wine o’clock” t-shirt in the office kitchen, where you go to get coffee and regroup.

When the milk you spilled is a metaphor but also your reality.

When the milk you spilled (combined with the Coffee mate creamer you spilled) congeals on your skin under your t-shirt, causing your skin to itch, and you begin to scratch incessantly, while assuring your boss that you definitely don’t have fleas.

When the milk you spilled inadvertently inspires you to give an impassioned speech about the expense of your dog’s flea and tick medication, and the dire need for a human Lyme disease vaccine.

When the milk you spilled results in your boss abruptly ending your performance review, because you can’t stop talking about the several milks you spilled, and also about deer ticks.

When the milk you spilled is the perfectly foamy latte you made at home, after five failed attempts, since paying nine dollars for a latte is no longer an option now that you don’t have a job.

When the milk you spilled is from a cow you milked yourself, after years of dreaming about being a farmer and living off the land, a fantasy you could finally pursue after losing your job, so you book a cow milking experience on Airbnb, put on your overalls, and drive to Vermont, but milking a cow turns out to be kinda weird, kinda gross, and kinda smelly, and you are so surprised by the milk actually coming out of the cow that you miss the bucket, get sprayed in the face, and scream because you don’t expect the milk to be warm.

When the milk you spilled is in your favorite mug you broke.