While we were back in Arkansas, we had lunch at The Purple Cow, a burger-and-shake restaurant in Little Rock that Misty loved when she lived there. Because we are Americans who love our calories like we love our guns and unregulated financial systems, we ordered two milkshakes, one for me and Misty, and the other for Eli and Liza.
Eli took one sip and said, “That’s enough for me.” Liza, on the other hand….
Notice how she has her hands wrapped around the glass, making sure that it doesn’t go anywhere. A few times we would take it away so that she’d remember to breathe, and immediately she would point at the glass and fervently make the sign for “more”.
Of course, that’s a lot of milk for such a small kid, and eventually she became milk-drunk. She was so tired, she laid her head to one side. That didn’t mean she stopped drinking, though.
If milkshakes came in brown paper bags, she’d be ready for the street.