I could stomach most of the green food. Green pancakes? Weird, yes, but they still tasted good. My brain could be fooled into taking that first bite, especially once I drowned them in lovely, un-dyeable, brown syrup.
But the one thing that I could never choke down, no matter what, was the green milk. Milk was not something I particularly enjoyed anyway, and having to stare down a tall glass of murky, green liquid was just about torture for a 14-year-old girl.
Torture almost as painful as, say, wholesome family activities at Air Force Museums in the dead heat of summer.
So when the morning dawned bright and sunny, with a smile I thought of my Dad, and just couldn't help myself.
And guess what, Dad?
They gagged on it as much as I did (though their smiles here are only because they hurried up and got dressed in their green so they could run around like trolls, pinching the rest of us).
May your sugar cookies be green and shaped like shamrocks, and may your milk be frothy and white.
As god intended.