Why Spilt Milk Stays Serious (And How to Laugh Anyway)

My wife handed me a napkin in the hotel lobby that read, “Laugh over spilt milk.” I smirked—cute, clever, a little unexpected.

Then I paused, picking it apart like a puzzle. Why did it stick?

As a kid, I was a milk-spilling machine. My parents, somehow unshaken, just grabbed a towel—no lectures, no sighs.

Decades later, my own kids sent glasses flying and …