Dino-Bots Love Milk

The scene is early morning, me standing in the living room wrapping my scarf around my neck. My daughter is about two steps from me, standing there in her pink and gray tartan print coat that she hates. She is trying to put her hair back and pulling her hood up all at the same time. I'm watching this M.C. Escher visual unfold when my wife hands me a single-serving carton of milk with a straw sticking out of it.
Try this, she says.
I take it and bring the straw up to my mouth, and her face makes an involuntary twitch, like when that bead of sweat rolls down that doctor's face in Total Recall and I say,
What? Why do you want me to try this?
She said there were little bits in it.
Like cheesy bits, Daddy, my daughter supplies.
At this point my brows cave in upon themselves and I probably look like I was trying to contain a sneeze during a eulogy.
Is everyone fucking insane? Is the question that fireworks into my brain, illuminating stark exasperation for a few seconds.
I'm not trying this. Just throw it away.

There is an alternate universe in which I tried the milk.
For today, that moment is when the universes forked.
So on the way to work I was wholly occupied with the alternate version of me that chose to take a drink and discern the existence of cheesy bits floating around inside that carton.
I'm not sure what would happen next.
But I like to think it involved futuristic laser weapons and dinosaurs with cybernetic implants. I think that my reaction to drinking cheesy bits would be so violent that it would cause a rift in the space/time and through the open seam would pour all number of possibilities.
Maybe if I'd taken a drink, I would get a chance to prove myself, to be tested, there at the end of the world.
Finally I would lead a band of dirty, tattered people to reclaim civilization from the dino-bot overlords bent solely on human extinction, who had found purchase on our reality from the time stream from which they'd come. The overlords who had been invited by me, by my actions.
That part I would keep a secret, but someone in the group would eventually find out and wrestle with telling the others.

I would make speeches and be reclusive. I would go on rages and tangents. I would wear things taken from dino-bot bodies.

Maybe I drank the milk. Maybe it's still this morning and a paramedic is shining a flashlight into my eyes.

Maybe the dino-bot overlords are coming.

Maybe there's no way in hell I was going to drink milk with cheesy bits in it, in any reality.