Dear Milk,
I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, and I’ve decided that it’s time for us to end things. Now, before you get all curdled, allow me to explain.
You’re a glorified, less essential version of water. The USDA may think you’re hot shit and recommend three daily glasses, but I know all the evil you’ve done. I know how many intestines you’ve unapologetically ripped through. Hell, nearly 75 percent of the world can’t stand you due to lactose intolerance — including me. According to the Harvard School of Public Health, 90 percent of Asians, 70 percent of Blacks and Native Americans, and 50 percent of Hispanics are lactose intolerant. You and lactose are a package deal. So don’t throw him under the bus.
The only reason you’ve gotten away with the assault of 5.25 billion stomachs is through some convenient genetic mutation. We weren’t equipped to deal with you from the very beginning. In fact, you mostly just made everyone sick — we lost our ability to process you after infancy, once we are weaned off of our mothers’ milk. But you didn’t take the hint, and 10 thousand years ago, some weirdo indulged you and milked a cow.
After you saved a few generations from famine (big friggin’ deal), their ability to process dairy became a favorable mutation and was passed on.
But it’s 2014 now. We don’t need you anymore. Despite the nutrients you boast, you didn’t invent calcium or vitamin D. We can find those (and more) in good ol’ fashioned sunshine, fish, kale, spinach, turnip, sardines and tofu. Stop trying to monopolize yourself as the only way to get “strong, healthy bones” and prevent osteoporosis. You’re easily replaced with regular exercise, leafy green vegetables and vitamin K.
Now, don’t get me wrong. You have your redeeming qualities. A plate of fresh cookies just wouldn’t taste the same without some udder juice, and I can’t imagine my bowl of cereal with water as its base. However, the fact that you had to create an entire publicity campaign to promote yourself is a little counter-effective. I mean, you don’t see “Got Bean Sprouts?” posters everywhere, or celebrities sporting kale mustaches.
And frankly, you’re just not the beverage you used to be. Word on the street is that your steroid growth hormones have spiked since you’ve been industrialized. That’s not a good look, M.
Look, I don’t want you to feel like I’m just picking on you. Your entire extended family is problematic: there’s your rotting old uncle cheese, your greasy brother butter, and your grandma yogurt. They’re great and all, but a family reunion can have me doubled over in pure agony.
Please don’t be sad about this. It’s really for the best. How would you feel if you had to pop a lactase enzyme pill every time you met me? I just feel like my stomach can’t be itself around you. I’ll still see you around every once in a while — maybe in an ice cream shop or when I’ve eaten something too spicy. If Asia can make it without you, then so can I.
Sincerely,
Dahlia
 
@@An open letter to milk: it’s you, not me@@
@@Lactose steps down from the winner’s pedestal@@