What Your Favorite Cereal Says About You
Every choice we make says something about ourselves. The people we consider friends, the movies we like, the careers we would pursue if only there were jobs anymore, and especially what we choose to pour into our cereal bowls every morning…
You live for fun and adventure, fueled by a daily sugar intake so astronomical your movements can only be tracked with the same extreme slow-motion photography used to capture hummingbird wings flaps and bullets go through playing cards. Whether you’re jumping off rooftops into pools or just gravel, screaming up and down the school hallway naked because pants can’t hold you back anymore or in constant pursuit of a leprechaun that no one else can see and may in fact hint at a full-fledged psychotic break, no one can say that you don’t make the most of your days (or nights, since you can’t remember the last time you slept or even blinked).
Your life is a series of bad decisions. You bought a haunted house because you thought it would be nice to always have company or at least a good reason the pipes are spewing blood this time. You chose the number “7” five times on one lotto ticket because no one else would do that and so you wouldn’t have to share the jackpot. And when it comes to breakfast you clearly will eat anything thrown into a rectangular box, whether it be unhealthy morning candy puffs, uncooked, unspecified meat or a “mystery sampler” that seems to consist of three things all trying to claw their way through the box or your intestinal lining.
You like to have fun but only if it’s approved by your mom. Your idea of a wild night is secretly causing all the bricks to fall down in Jenga, then apologizing to everyone (even if you have to make a few phone calls), then sending yourself to your room because you don’t deserve to play games. Every Halloween you go dressed as yourself because you’re afraid not everyone is emotionally prepared to see a Spongebob walk among them. And when people ask what you would like to be when you grow up you answer, “A good boy” in that flat tone that creeps everyone out.
You’ve decided it’s time to grow up, but not to the point that the only fruit you eat doesn’t come coated in high-fructose corn syrup and preserved in vacuum-sealed plastic bags like a prehistoric insect caught in amber. Still, you’re making some moves towards adulthood. You put away all the toys on your shelf and replaced them with collectible robots and fully-articulated Harry Potter figurines (not action figures). You now only ride your skateboard to and from work, not in work. And when people ask if you’re ready to settle down and have a family you choke on the nice dinner you made yourself, rather than your usual fistful of gummy worms and what you hope was cheese.
You’re now a full-fledged adult. You pay constant attention to your health, your family, your finances, your career, your constant home renovations, your ability to attend three kids’ soccer games simultaneously, your parents moving in because they lost all their money in the both the stock market and online craps, your spouse’s parents moving in because why should your parents be the only ones who don’t have to pay rent, your neighbor’s perfect a** every time they go out to get the mail and your constant gnawing desire to get in the car and just drive and drive and drive until you forget what your family looks like or remember you have to pick up your youngest from violin practice.
Your days of fun and adventure are long behind you as you now hope a moment of quiet reflection doesn’t turn into 45 agonizing minutes on the can, cursing yourself for having that banana even though you know it binds you but good. You fill out the rest of your days cursing at teens from your front lawn, cursing out passing jets from your backyard and cursing out your wife from your now silent living room because she left you six months ago due to your constant screaming that nothing has been good since they allowed the word “boob” on television. So now you sit alone, staring forlornly at the bathroom tiles, hoping that three bowls of Fiber One and that prune you washed down with six cups of coffee will finally do the trick.
What's your favorite cereal? Do you think it says anything about who you are as a person? Let me know in the comments!