The Milk Bath Misunderstanding
In the quiet, picture-perfect suburb of Willow Creek—where lawns were trimmed with surgical precision and neighborhood gossip was fresher than the morning dew—lived a woman named Cassandra.
Cassandra possessed a presence that was impossible to ignore: tall, luminous, and devoted to the glossy pages of high-fashion magazines. She held an unwavering belief that history—particularly ancient history—contained the secrets to eternal youth.
One sweltering Tuesday afternoon, while flipping through a vintage beauty periodical in her sun-drenched parlor, Cassandra discovered a passage about Cleopatra’s legendary skincare routine. According to the article, the Queen of the Nile maintained her radiant complexion by bathing daily in fresh milk.
To Cassandra, this wasn’t a charming historical anecdote.
It was a revelation.
After examining her reflection in a gilded hallway mirror—and spotting what she considered a deeply offensive microscopic line near her eye—she decided drastic measures were necessary.
The next morning, she left a neatly written note for Arthur, the neighborhood milkman who had faithfully delivered glass bottles for over thirty years.
“Dear Arthur,
Please deliver **25 gallons of whole milk tomorrow morning. No bottles. Just the bulk. I have a project.”
When Arthur arrived at 5:15 a.m., the world still wrapped in predawn silence, he picked up the note and squinted through his spectacles.
Twenty-five gallons?
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