All great arguments start with breakfast cereal

Jason Offutt

There are bad things in this world. Politicians, sales tax, the IRS and, as I grow older, gravity. Then there are things that aren’t just bad, they’re wrong. Wrong on every level.

One of those Wrong things invaded my house.

The Toddler woke earlier than everyone else in the house because toddlers apparently have nothing better to do at 6 a.m. She also wanted to eat. I’d learned from the Great Breastfeeding Horror of July ’16 to wear a T-shirt to bed, so my wake up call wasn’t so bad. I got up to pour her a bowl of cereal.

It was then, in the peacefulness of the breaking dawn with my baby staring at me hopefully from beneath a mop of copper hair, that I discovered the Wrongness.

There were Chex in the Cheerios box. Chex in the Cheerios box. What madness was this? What next? Chocolate in my peanut butter?

In my conspiracy theory-centric mind this evil was perpetrated in the factory by communists, or the Freemasons, or the Illuminati or something. For what purpose? Well, to undermine the American way of life, certainly.

“Honey,” I said to my wife who was trying to mind her own business, a serious mistake in a household with five people. “There are Chex mixed in with the Cheerios.”

“I know,” she said. “I consolidated the boxes.”

Consolidated the boxes? Who is this person?

I turned toward the hallway lined with doors where the children were probably hiding. “Family meeting,” I called.

My wife instituted regular family meetings months ago to ensure better communication. The children immediately rebelled, mainly because we had to talk with each other. These meetings may go over better if we spoke through Skype from different parts of the house. You know, I’ll put that on next week’s agenda.

“It’s important this time,” I said, my wife glaring at me. “It’s about your mother.”

The children came running. The glare began to burn my skin.

There are battles married couples choose to fight and those we wisely do not. Like should the toilet paper roll away from the wall, or against the wall. I chose not to fight that battle, even though I was right. I mean who wants their toilet paper to roll against the wall?

I showed the children the box.

“What’s in here?” I asked.

“Cheerios,” they said in unison.

I reached inside and pulled out a Chex. Their gasp was audible.

“Your mother mixed the cereals,” I said. Cue ominous music.

We voted three to one that since Chex and Cheerios absorb milk at different rates this was a crime against nature.

“I do this to save space,” my wife told me after the meeting. “Mom always did it.”

I’d never viewed her mother as sketchy until now.

“So of all the awesome life lessons you could have learned from your mother in childhood, this is what you came away with?”

Ouch. I really need to work on picking my battles.

Find out about everything Jason at jasonoffutt.com.