a bowl of wheated o's, a bowlful of letters staring back at me. ive stared back at these puffed wheat rings for years. but not since years. the cereal of my child years, plain, not honied. my mother would never agree to that. luck would have it there were on sale this week, so i scooped up a box of breakfast cereal i havent eaten in years. savouring every spoon of their familiar taste, it hasnt changed since i was in elementary school.
sliced bananas and fresh strawberries, the first of the season (the strawberries that is), doused in soy milk. this cereal never gets old.
is it strange when little things like american breakfast cereals make me happy? oh dear. it sounds worse when i type that out loud.