Lemon + milk = curds

Last night, after my woeful seasick post, Paul and I decided to meet for dinner at a casual restaurant/bakery near the University.

He had been grading papers and I had been stressing over legal notices, so it was a nice break. We ordered sandwiches and soup and talked about some graphic design work I'm doing for his lab.

Before we left, we refilled our drinks. Now, for those of you who are not from the South, let me fill you in on a little secret: We don't just drink iced tea down here. We drink sweet tea. And it's not that crap that passes for sweet tea up North either. I know. I've been there.

Southern sweet tea is in a category by itself. It doesn't even really have the consistency of a drink anymore. It's more of a syrup, and nine times out of ten, you don't really taste the tea. It's brown-colored sugar water ... and that's how most Southerners like it. (Side note: A couple of Northern friends have experienced rapture over a big plate of Memphis-style barbecue and a glass of sweet tea. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.)

ANYway, I went to refill my sweet tea when I realized the lemons I'd squeezed into my tea were still sitting on the bottom of my cup. I found a little plastic tub that said "trash can" near the coffee bar and dumped my lemons into it, then turned to walk away.

That's when I noticed the other side of the tub. It read: "Creamer. NOT a trash can."

I booked it out of there before any of the employees noticed their creamer was covered in syrupy brown sweet tea and three-quarters of a used-up lemon. I guess I curdled up all their creamer, but in my defense, the tub wasn't properly labeled.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.