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If Oat Milk Were a Person



If oat milk were a person. Tell me more!

If oat milk were a person, it would feel confident and useful. Not only would it be a worthy stand-in for the mighty, now fallen cow juice. It would also double as a traditional breakfast reminder with its faint trace of childhood visits to grandma’s house. Though modest, it would be superior to soy, almond, or rice #sowhite. It would be the opposite of flamboyant, grounded in itself, plain but not simple. It would be named something conventional but still dignified, like Calvin or Margaret.

If oat milk were a person, it would take filling over form any day. It would never date a cheerleader or someone from the chess club. Not because it couldn’t. But first of all, it would stay with its middle school sweetheart and thus never have the need. Second, it would avoid anyone with long, slender hands, precluding an encounter with most of the aforementioned demographic altogether. It would marry a nurse or a gardener. They would have three kids, one in the marching band who would enjoy mauling Crocodile Rock by Elton John or Viva La Vida by Coldplay on its trombone; one on the wrestling team, who, already in fifth grade, would smell like wet gym clothes and chewy microwave popcorn, covered up with too much Old Spice, and a horseback rider who rode Western style and later moved to Montana.

If oat milk were a person, it would believe in holidays but not vacations, make all the fixings for Thanksgiving, and have an old mutt and two cats who all looked alike.

If oat milk were a person, it would be tolerant and forgiving but not have any desire to partake in the next-door neighbors’ key parties. It would vote for whoever seemed more reasonable and didn’t make a spectacle of themselves. It would use the word spectacle often with a slight hue of pity dressed as understanding.

If oat milk were a person, the soap in its guest bathroom would be a solid bar sitting on a little porcelain dish with a duck and a goose wearing straw hats on the edge. It would pay its taxes in March since it makes no sense to put it off until the last minute.

If oat milk were a person, its garage would be tidy and organized. The Halloween decorations would have their own plastic box from the hardware store, and they would sit on a shelf on the right side of the car. It would drive an older Ford, which all the kids would be taught to drive also. At the end of the garage, all the tools would hang on the wall in order of purpose and size, clean and well-used. No one would have an inkling that even a cursory forensic analysis would show traces of human blood and brain matter on both the axe and the saw. And not of the same DNA either. One set would belong to a widower known as Mr. Palmonetti from a small suburb of Boise, Idaho. Another would be from a twice-married hairdresser named Celine but going by Bobby for obvious reasons.

If oat milk were a person.


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