I have deep thoughts, many many deep thoughts. Just this morning I had a revelation about cold cereal.
I don’t usually eat cold cereal in the morning, for stylistic reasons. If you have ever worked in an office then you know how disgusting it is when you have to look at your co-workers hunched over their keyboards eating breakfast, shoveling in the Egg McMuffin or the raw Pop Tart setc. Ew.
And then there’s always the nit wit who has has her own bowl and spoon and box of Honey-Os in her desk and while you’re checking up on your morning emails, she’s slurping her damn milky nastiness not quite out of ear shot. (This is probably the same person who puts on her make-up on the train ride into Grand Central Station and who uses her commute as “Me” time to return all her personal phone calls.)
I’ve worked with too many people who have no boundaries when it comes to sloppy breakfast food and it’s turned me right off of cold cereal. But still, every now and then I decide that breakfast really is the most important meal of the day and I decide to start eating breakfast, and I get a box of Raisin Bran.
So the other day I’m pouring out some Raisin Bran and I’m thinking what I always think when it comes to Raisin Bran: I wish the whole box could be made up of the tasty little bits in the bottom of the bag.
Because: I think the tiny little bits that fall to the bottom of the bag are the best part of Raisin Bran, and I think that having to eat through the whole top layers of big hard-to-chew flakes in order to get to the last little broken-down tasty bits in the bottom of the bag is just the price you have to pay for being a grown up in our Puritan work ethic way of life.
And out of the blue, like the happiest thought in my life, it came to me: Hey. Wait. I’m not a Puritan. And I have two fists!
And I lifted the plastic bag of Raisin Bran out of its cardboard box and I laid it on the counter and I hammered it flat with my dukes until the whole bag looked like a sachet of Raisin Bran pulp, an entire bag of tasty bottom-of-the-bag Raisin Bran bits.
I am a genius.
I can not believe it’s taken me all this time — 54 years — to figure out that once I buy a box of Raisin Bran I can do with it whatever I want. And if I want to pound it until it is the consistency of sawdust No One Can Stop Me.
I plan to apply this new philosophy of life (called “Anteater“**) in all the other areas of my life that are full of the smallest, dumbest kinds of thoughtless conformity.
I don’t know where that is, yet, but I’m on the look out.
How about you?
Got any tips or stories of momentous mini-rebellions in your life?
** I was going to call my new philosophy of life the “Perfectionism Never Made Anyone Immortal” philosophy of life, but I chose “Anteater ” because of a poster (see below) that gets the same message across but also makes me laugh (I sincerely apologize to anyone who doesn’t think the “F” word is philosophical):
Oh man. I love that anteater.