First thing in the morning, I like to make a cup of chai. I get the kettle boiling and take out my blue, United Way mug. It’s bigger than any of my coffee cups and has What Matters printed across its middle.

I have become a fan of Tazo Decaf Chai. It’s not as good as the real thing, black tea boiled with ginger and Indian spices, but it’s pretty darn nice for something that comes out of a beige and yellow box. Along with clever copy on the virtues of Tazo Decaf Chai, the box has a diagram showing how steeping the bag for five minutes will provide the best results. I don’t look at these instructions any more even though I pretty much follow their steps.

This morning, after my tea bag had steeped its requisite five minutes, I lingered for a few seconds over the nice aroma rising from my countertop. Then I grabbed a bottle of milk out of my fridge door and poured.

Thick white liquid with small, crumbly chunks came out of the pint-sized bottle.

What the hell?

Organic blue cheese dressing. Its pint-sized bottle shape and color was almost identical to the pint of half and half stored right next to it.

How could I be so stupid? I thought to myself.

Why didn’t I look before I poured? What was the matter with me? The dressing was in a glass container. The milk was in a plastic bottle. They had different colored labels. Different colored caps.

That was initial scolding I gave myself. Then I went on to blame myself, to shame myself for WASTING. Certainly, wasting is a sin, right? So many people live without the luxury of Tazo Decaf Chai. I’m on a tight budget and really want to be conscious to put everything I have to good use. What was I going to do about this now?

I was angry at myself. I was despondent….And yes, I was still thirsty for my morning chai. I took out a teaspoon and clanged it around the inside of the cup. The tea took on the right sandalwood color. Then I thought about the small chunks of blue cheese breaking apart at the bottom of the cup. No way was I going to drink this concoction.

And then I started to laugh. I looked at the picture of the Guernsey cow on the bottle of dressing. Oh, this is pretty funny, I thought. An easy mistake to have made. I stirred my experimental cocktail again. By now, some oily bubbles seemed to have formed on the surface. I’ll just put the kettle up to boil again, I decided.

I laughed some more as I poured my first cup of the day down the drain. It’s not supposed to be good to cry over spilt milk, but it seemed perfect to laugh over discarded chai (with two tablespoons of organic blue cheese dressing).

Forgiving yourself, then laughing about a mistake is no small thing.