martyrdom

cereal killer

Cooking had seemed easy to her. Heck, it had even seemed fun. That was obviously before she– almost– burned the dorm down. And, of course, before she wrecked a toaster oven– along with a plastic plate– by putting said plate in the oven and turning the machine on. And most definitely before her friends got tired of taste testing her, shall we say, attempts.

Really, you'd think she'd have picked some stuff up by now. But even after five weeks of cold, hard reality, she found that all she could cook was a bowl of cold, hard, cereal.

You know, she would cheer herself up on some days, this is a perfect summer breakfast. Cold, refreshing, sweet, kinda filling. Just like those Instagram posts where they're on vacation in Boracay and wherever else rich people go.

Girl, it's autumn, and you know it, the traitorous voice in her head would laugh. And yeah, snaps of granola with goji berries and whatever does look great when you're by the beach. But you're not on the beach, now are you? You're in a cheap old dorm, eating frozen pizza and instant ramen and...

Then she would tell the voice to shut up because the truth hurt. A lot.

Sometimes she'd answer back with, At least there are different kinds of cereal. Every morning, I have to choose between corn flakes and Cheerios! Other people don't even have this privilege!

But the little voice always found a way to taunt her. Wow, corn flakes and Cheerios? So gourmet. Poor you, having to make such a hard decision every morning. Then the voice would laugh and she'd start feeling stupid because– who was she kidding?– she was fighting herself, which she was pretty sure everyone knew was a pointlessly losing battle.

You know, at least I even get to go to college. Not a lot of people even have this privilege.

The voice had nothing to say to that. Hah.

But although she'd won the battle, the voice won the war when she pulled the milk out of the refrigerator and poured it into a bowl. She was debating over which gourmet cereal to swallow down that morning when he walked in, holding a bulging paper bag.

"Pancakes?"

"Oh my gosh, yes," she gushed, but not before dumping the Cheerios box in the trash can.