Today is the first anniversary of the worst day of my life. It actually occurred four years ago today, but that’s the beauty of finding out that your whole life is a fraud on a February 29th. You only have to endure the day itself every four years.
My niece, Elisabeth, brought over some wrapping paper today. She knew I’d appreciate the label:
Oh, Chex of Wheat. Oh, blessed Chex.
Oh, Atkins-shunned bowl of rapture.
Thy carbs are complex. Thy fiber, divine.
My tummy is full of your whole-grain goodness.
Like tiny, caramel-colored, corduroy, throw pillows
Lost in a sea of regret and skim milk.
I add two teaspoons of sugar.
It forms a sludge on the bottom.
While I eat, I read the box.
“CONTAINS WHEAT INGREDIENTS.”
So do I, my friend.
So do I.