I typically get up for work a couple of hours before my girlfriend. This morning, I got up to discover there was only enough milk for a cup of tea each (we would normally both have cereal as well, at our respective breakfast times). So I had my tea and toast for breakfast, and sat down and wrote my girlfriend a short note about all of this. I’ll save you the hassle of trying to read my spider-scrawl handwriting (which is even worse at 5.30am), and type it up for you now.
I hope you slept well.
I’m sorry to report that the milk situation is now dire. However, I can confirm that the toast is nice.
I would like to clarify I played no prominent part in the lowering of milk stocks between last night and this morning. I didn’t make a rice pudding, nor indulge in five bowls of cereal and three cups of tea. I am a simple messenger, reporting on these grave dairy concerns, and hope that this unfortunate milk disaster in no way harms the relationship between you and your day, nor disrupts the peace in the kitchen region.
I will seek to rectify this situation longer-term, for the foreseeable near-future, through a cash injection of about £1.70, before the day is out, and we can work together to rebuild the harmony enjoyed by all parties.”
My girlfriend’s reply, added to the bottom of the same sheet of paper, that was awaiting me when I got home later that day, read:
“Dear Mr Park,
Thank you for your informative note. I am humbly 50% also responsible for the limited resources of milk. I really didn’t notice last night.”