An Awkward Amount of Cereal

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I'm a man of exquisite taste. When it comes to my cereal, I look upon the lavishly colored boxes as a sign of personal status and luxury. Every morning I come downstairs, I open up the pantry and take in the beautiful sight of the fashionable foods sitting neatly on the top shelf. This is the life, I think to myself as I pull down the box that I am currently working on.

See, according to breakfast etiquette, one must not switch boxes of cereal while they are only half-way consumed. Doing so represents a lack of discipline and commitment to the cereal you proclaimed would be yours to cherish once you opened the plastic seal. If you leave a box of cereal, only to feast your eyes upon another, you have broken trust. No one trusts a man or lady who eats out of more than one box at a time. If one cannot stay true to the box they have ripped apart for pleasure, then they mustn't put forth the effort to remove that box from it's kind, gentle resting place of wholeness that it once held.

There is nothing more depressing in the kitchen than to see a half-eaten box of cereal neglected by it's impatient owner. Now, there is one exception to this rule that I find it necessary to address at this time. If there is more than one member of your household who enjoy the pleasant sensation of consuming cereal, then it is within their right to eat a different box of cereal than you. If you enjoy the magically delicious marshmallows crafted by the hands of a lucky leprechaun, but another family member does not share your sentiment, then he or she may indulge in the cinnamon twisted flavor of a well toasted square. This is indeed acceptable in the eyes of breakfast etiquette.

But, every once in awhile, there is an awkward dissonance between the universe's alignment and the contents of your cereal bowl. You should endeavor to plan out your meals so that the final breakfast is a special occasion. It should be treated in the highest regard, as you pour out the remnants of that once full box of delicious, crunchy meal into your milk filled bowl. The finely ground powder at the bottom of the bag represents the swan song of a once beautiful relationship between the breakfast connoisseur and their subject of interest. This wonderful interaction can last many mornings, or only a few, depending on the appetite of the consumer, but no matter the length of time, the farewell powder is a sign of the end.  After embalming the subject, by taking the plastic bag out of the colorful husk, they send the cardboard corpse away. Some even hold services for the empty cardboard box that once held their morning companion, and then throw it away into the recycle bin, so that it can enjoy life in the hereafter as another box of cereal for someone else to cherish.

I personally have never held a service, but if you are inclined to that sort of ritual, that is your prerogative.  Now that my mind has wandered off the beaten path a bit, let us attempt to reconvene and refocus. The departing of a loved box of cereal is not the awkward moment I attempted to bring up previously. It's a normal part of life and is expected unless you never finish a box of cereal in which case you are wasting a lot of good life experiences and the hard work of everyone who helped bring the box to your undeserving kitchen. Now that I'm done with my rant, let's continue.

Sometimes, when the universe decides it hates someone, you will run into a compromising situation. You have already committed to enjoying a certain box of cereal, though you may have indulged in another on a few occasions, but you know you are nearing the end. Shaking the box no longer produces a satisfying, crunchy rattle of life. Instead, it is the empty whisper of a dying breed. It's a hushed rustling of a once proud box of breakfast, shivering in the confines of your closet, waiting for you to take it's final bowl's worth of vitality. But, if you're anything like me, it's difficult.

It is not because I care about the remaining crumbs, or of the inanimate thoughts of a box, but because of it's awkwardness. Once I have my two waffles toasted and smothered in butter and syrup, I don't want to have to think of more food to fill me. When I pull out my cereal I expect to be filled with it's delicious contents, not spurned by it's inability to live up to my groggy expectations.  I grasp the box in my two hands and realize that it cannot even attempt to fill one bowl that I placed before me. How can one be fed off of a measly few charms in the bottom of a supposedly lucky box? Then, I have to put the box down in disgust.

You see, the awkward part of this whole situation is that I cannot throw away the cereal left in the bag, because then I will be wasteful, and will no longer hold a position of respect among my colleagues. But, if I pour out the cereal and see the powder, then I have to eat it. I am not desperate enough or awake enough during my morning routine to finish off one box of cereal, which dedicated it's life to the service of feeding my appetite, and then wash out my bowl and eat another. You might say that I could easily pour another box of cereal into the bowl once I finish the first box, but this would show your ignorance.

The powder of a cereal's final passage leaves it's memories in a bowl of milk, even if the cereal has been devoured. It will infect any other cereal that enters it's dairy domain with a hint of flavor that reminds us of their life. It's like a forced memoir upon the taste buds of an unsuspecting victim. You may think you're done with charms, but once you stick that square cinnamon chunk in your mouth you will remember what it was like. Fruity hints of flavor will rudely interrupt your new sensation, and you will be left longing for a cereal you no longer have.

It's a sugary specter entering into the world of the hungry. The phantom of flavor will visit until you remove the milk from which it once resided. Then, it will leave you alone in peace. So, what do you do when you run into this awkward situation? Well, make sure you plan out your cereal consumption so that you may enjoy your final meal with your beloved breakfast buddy, and send them off to enjoy the edible afterlife they all long for.