It was supposed to be a calm, romantic night. The streets were quiet, the wind was cool, and your boyfriend decided to take you out for a late-night ride. He stopped by a small store, came back with a plastic of cold milk, and handed it to you with that casual “here, hold this” look.

Simple, right? Just drink the milk. But no—this was you we’re talking about.

You tried to untwist the knot on the plastic. It was stubborn, almost like it had been tied by a sailor with trust issues. You bit your lip, pulled harder, and—BOOM! The knot gave up on life. The milk erupted like a dairy volcano, splashing straight onto his back in one glorious, milky explosion.

He froze mid-drive. Slowly—dangerously slowly—he turned his head to look at you. His face was the perfect mix of cute angry, slightly betrayed, and “how did I fall in love with this disaster?”

You, on the other hand, sat there with milk dripping from your hands, biting back a laugh, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Heh… surprise?” you mumbled.