Don't cry over spilled milk?

Oh, Please! It will take a lot more than spilled milk to make me cry. In fact, it takes a full 20 fluid ounce glass bottle (minus 1 tablespoon used in a recipe last week) of soy sauce shattered and seeping under my fridge to make me cry to be exact!

The kids were finally in bed and I was in the middle of making a mental laundry list of all the liquids, expensive makeups, and full jars of rank minced garlic that have been accidentally knocked over or willfully thrown down in the past week and coming to the conclusion that, once again, apple juice is banned from my home, when I thought I would make myself a much needed, but not well deserved ice cream sundae. I was pulling the chocolate sauce casually from the fridge when I inadvertently knocked the full bottle of soy sauce down to my freshly mopped kitchen tile. At the moment of impact I didn't curse, I didn't scream, but I did do my most thrilling impression of that high society lady in Thoroughly Modern Millie who shrieks, "SOOOY SAAUUCCE!!! SOOOOOY SAAUUCCCE!!!" after Julie Andrews tries to clean her expensive dress with the substance. And no, the irony of the moment was not lost on me. I tend to see life/the universe/the little voice that lives inside my head as a practical jokester that waits until I cry "Uncle!" just to give me one more twist of the arm. So I shouldn't be surprised at the exact moment when I was saying "Enough is enough!" that the Powers-That-Be decided that my day was lacking a grand finale. And I will tell you as I looked at the mess that I had just created my first instinct was to wish someone else was around to clean up after me. Not my mother, which is a big step for me to realize I AM the mother, but a MAID. For a split second as I watched the trail of sodium-rich black juices flow through the grout like a flooded, swollen river ravages a small village, I swear I wished that I could just step calmly away, ring a little bell and wait for Maria/Olga/Mrs. Doubtfire to appear and tell me to go sit down and eat my ice cream and she would make it all better. That is when I started to cry. And I cried while I picked up every last shard of the demolished Kikkoman bottle. I cried while I sacrificed an overused beach towel to mop up the wasted sauce. And I cried as I pulled out my Swiffer WetJet for the fourth time today. But, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and poured a heaping helping of chocolate to my now lukewarm ice cream. Now it is well-deserved!!