Spoiled Milk and College Babies

I woke up, made some coffee, and grabbed the milk. No wonder the fridge was so full, we never had two gallons in the fridge at the same time, EVER!
I grabbed the open gallon and started to pour it in my cup when the smell hit me. Blegh.
I looked at the date, looked at the date on the other milk, then up at the cereal that was piling up on top of the fridge.
While I have not forgotten for one second that my son has gone away to college, even though my brain is awesome/weird with denial games, I had forgotten to adjust my shopping habits.
I was alone in the kitchen, so I figured it was okay to tear up. I mean to cry. I mean to sit down on the floor and sob silently.
But if I did that, I would notice that it needs to be mopped, which I'd do, right before I made French toast for French Toast Friday, which would cause me to be late for work.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. 

There should be some kind of manual for this, I thought.

Okay, cry, but no sobbing, just cry as you go--Move move, move. 

So, that's rule #1: Cry as you go.