Cereal is the official breakfast of men. And lunch and dinner too, when necessary.
(“When necessary” means when a significant other is away or otherwise unavailable, and/or the man is in full sloth mode.)
That was the case earlier this week, when I discovered that “Kashi” is a brand name. For some reason, I thought it was a kind of cereal, like some back-to-nature granola kind of thing.
There was “Island Vanilla” Kashi in the cabinet. And there was some kind of chocolate-flavored Special K, too. I like chocolate and vanilla in a bowl, but only if it’s ice cream.
In my very limited world, there are only two kinds of cereal. Cheerios and Wheaties. I want to see a jock on the box, or a picture of those little Os swimming in milk.
This may have something to do with the fact that between the ages of, oh, 6 and 17, the pre-school question most every morning was, “Cheerios or Wheaties?”
(Back in the day, choices were basically limited to two. I’m sure there were more, but that’s the way it seemed. Bud or Schlitz? Ford or Chevy? Keds or P.F. Flyers? Life seemed a little more manageable, but then again, how much life did a kid have to manage?)
In the cabinet, there were no Cheerios. There were no Wheaties.
Crisis? Averted. I checked the “overstock” in the basement. There was the familiar orange box, with snowboarder Shaun White’s happy visage staring me in the face.
Which made me think of Bob Richards, the first Olympic hero to endorse Wheaties. Bob is still with us. He’s 85, and it turns out it’s a good thing milk is white or he never would have poured a bowl of Wheaties. He’s apparently somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun. But that’s a story for another day.