Fruit Loop.

I RETURNED HOME AT AN EARLY HOUR, and by early I actually mean late. It was nearly five a.m. and I had an incessant hankering for pancakes, eggs, and toast.

I pondered trekking to IHOP or Perkins, both of which would have provided me with the most excellent “empty” breakfasts. I say empty because they taste delicious in all of their butter and carbohydrate glory, and satisfy a hungry stomach for a good hour until you’re hungry all over again. Then you’re ticked off, because you just dropped $9 for your Eggs Over My Hammy or Grand Slammy or Pancake Party or whatever.

I ditched the restaurant idea and resorted to some home cooking. There was a dozen eggs waiting in my refrigerator, Large, Grade AA and “farm fresh,” and a loaf of twelve grain bread still sealed for freshness. I had talked my cravings down to settle for the eggs and toast, on account that I am incapable of making pancakes. I was excited.

But as I tossed open my apartment door, the light from the hallway cast shadows on two figures curled up in the nearby living room. My mind went berserk. Of all nights to have visitors, which number about a handful since August — of all nights — this one came when I was practically in pain for a good breakfast, a good breakfast that I now couldn’t cook!

Not to say that I couldn’t have fried up some foodstuffs on the spot — I could have! There thought of making it in silence, and eating it before shifty eyes was the buzzkill. If I was going to make it, I was going to make it good, and loud.

I opened the refrigerator to a sad gallon of skim milk with a scanty three cups remaining. I remembered the family-sized box of Fruit Loops in the pantry. I knew what I had to do.

Gathering up my resources, I went to the only place in my apartment where a lady could find some peace at the time. I sat down with my gallon jug, with my Fruit Loops, my bowl and my spoon, on the floor of my walk-in closet. I sat down and I poured, bowl after bowl. The three cups of milk ran dry and I wasn’t satisfied. I pounded my hand into the family-sized box, and fistful by fistful I ate dry cereal until I felt myself come to a slow.

I tucked the empty gallon jug into a corner of my closet, and placed the box of cereal nearby. I brushed my teeth, then I passed out.

I woke up this afternoon and made eggs.

One thought on “Fruit Loop.

  1. I like your story and can sympathize. First, by frequently inhaling cereal until I run out of milk and have to resort to the not-as-tasty milkless version. Second, because Kevin and I were craving Perkins late at night last week. All I wanted was eggs. We went to the one on 13 Ave off of I29 and proceeded to sit in our booth for 20 MINUTES! before anyone came to our table. A manager grabbed us some water and a server never came. We got up and left thoroughly pissed off and went home to make a steak/pepper/onion combo that we ate in a fit of anger. Stupid Perkins! Don’t go there! I’m still bitter…

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