We’ve been meeting for breakfast every morning since forever. Once in a while we get together for lunch, too, or dinner. Sometimes all three. I like them, they’re good company and sparkling conversationalists.
I’m talking about Rice Krispies. I’ve considered adding other cereals for variety’s sake and I’ve tried a bunch of them. In fact, I used to be a fan of Captain Crunch Berries, but they got ‘improved’. They weren’t the same after that.
Rice Krispies, on the other hand, have escaped relatively unchanged. They still chatter amiably, Snap! Crackle! Pop!, all through breakfast.
But there was one time when I got a bad box and, as soon as I poured the milk, they let loose with a string of expletives unheard since the Nixon tapes. My jaw dropped. And I swear Pop! pulled a butter knife on me. They’d gone bad.
You expect that kind of thing from the likes of Count Chocula or maybe Frankenberry. I could even see the Trix rabbit or the Cocoa Puffs dude going off the deep end. They don’t seem all that stable to begin with. In fact, just having them in the house made me uneasy. I half-expected them to come busting out of the cupboard in a demented frenzy and take the dog hostage.
You don’t expect such behavior from the Rice Krispies boys. They’re the Eddie Haskells of the cereal world — you know, “lovely dress you’re wearing today, Mrs. Cleaver.” Brown-nosers and apple polishers. I mean, look at their hats, for pete’s sake — a band leader (or else a bell hop), a baker, and a stocking cap. Not exactly biker helmets are they?
That one bad box? Well, that had to be an anomaly. They were way past their expiration date. Plus they’d been hanging around on the same shelf with Raisin Bran and Grape-Nuts, a couple of hard-core agitators. Of course they turned surly, who wouldn’t? All has been forgiven and Rice Krispies are back in the house. All is right with the world.
Copyright © Publikworks 2011.