I stand dead-eyed and mouth agape in front of the cereal aisle at my local Walmart. I understand deep in my soul that if I choose incorrectly once again, my family will never let me forget it.
The selection is seemingly unending — from Fruit Loops to Granola to mini chocolate chip cookies they are now marketing as cereal.
The problem is I don’t eat cereal. I hate the stuff. I’ve tried to eat cereal, but that much of one taste, texture and flavour make me gag. So there I’ll be halfway through a bowl of cheerios and be all like, “Ugh, gawwd, what am I doing? This is disgusting!” and then I toss the rest of it into the toilet because I never know how to dispose of half a bowl of cereal. The look of it just floating in the toilet bowl — those waterlogged O’s of horror — makes me want to puke even more.
Then I spend the rest of the day feeling sick and wishing I never ate any damn cereal in the first place.
My kids won’t eat Cheerios because they say they smell like baby pee diapers. They haven’t been around a lot of babies or their diapers, so I’m not really sure how they made that assessment, but ever since mentioning it to me, that’s all I can think of when eating cereal, so that’s another reason I can’t consume the stuff.
At least, I know that much. No Cheerios.
Also, I’m cheap as hell, and brand-name cereal is like 10 bucks a box these days, so fuck that noise.
I move down the aisle to the off-brand section. Okay. Okay. This narrows it down a bit.
What have we got here?
- Fruity Whirls.
- Oaty O’s.
- Rice Crunchies.
- Apple Loops.
- Crispy Hexagons.
- Seafaring Man Munch.
Then I see it.
The knockoff Mini-Wheats. I don’t know what it is about this cereal, but I am attracted to it every time I undergo this particular horror of domestic life. Maybe it’s the bright purple packaging. Or the enlarged photo of one single shredded wheat with thick, white rock-hard frosting plastered on the front of the box.
Perhaps it’s the price tag coming in at a reasonable $3.49.
Without thought, my hand moves toward the box. I’ve made the choice. I shall have the Bite-Sized Frosted Shredded Wheats!
As I make contact, I am confident I’ve made the correct selection.
Finally, I will come home from a grocery trip, and the humans I share a domicile with will applaud my astute decision-making. I shall be victorious, and this day will go down in history!
“No. That’s not right,” my husband gently says as though speaking to a monkey with a paw full of ready-to-be-flung shit.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!” I yell, fully flinging the shit in his direction.
“There are seven boxes of those frosted wheats in the pantry that the kids refuse to eat right now. I don’t know why you keep buying the stuff, but the kids don’t like them.”
It is then that I realize, deep in my cereal-beaten soul, that I’m just not cut out for this.
This breakfast cereal bullshit.
I can make a mean bacon and egg breaky. I’ll whip up waffles and add homemade blueberry syrup too. And don’t even get me started on my homemade pan scramblers!
They’re ahhhhmazing. So cheesy!
Unfortunately, cereal is the only thing my children will consume to break their fast.
“That’s it!” I scream in the middle of the Walmart, “Those kids can come to the store and pick out their own damn cereal. I’m not doing it anymore!”
And with that proclamation, I begin to walk away. I catch a few glances from other haggard, messy-bunned mothers, and they smile knowingly in my general direction. I realize they, too, understand my plight.
Together we are one in our hatred for cereal purchases.
Of course, I would have rather received a slow clap standing ovation for my newly founded decree on breakfast food purchases, but they were already standing, so I guess I’ll take what I can get.
Jamie grabs a box of Cinnamon Swirl Squares, and we’re on our way.
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This post was previously published on it’s just foam.
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From The Good Men Project on Medium
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