Cornflakes, I think (13 of 31)

Cornflakes? 

Yes, I think I will.

“Cornflakes” is not an exciting item, no matter how you look at it.  I read recently about a character who inferred that a little kidnapped boy must be held in a certain location because the suspected kidnapper’s maid was seen carrying a bag of groceries with a box of Cornflakes protruding.  The boy’s mother hastily informed the agent that her son would never choose corn flakes.  He would choose an interesting, exotic, kid-taste-bud-friendly cereal. He had even picked out blue cereal once upon a time.

I grew up in a Kellog’s Cornflake house.  Of course my brother and I craved the sugary, colorful cereals with prizes buried deep inside the box.  On a few occasions, we were treated to our favorites, such as Lucky Charms.  If no one was around to check our haste, we would tear open the box and, with bare  hands, dig around until we found the magical crinkly plastic wrapping. We hardly ever argued about who would get the prize.  

In retrospect, I think it was perhaps the absence of a prize, and therefore the absence of grimy arms digging inside the food container, which prompted Mom to go for the more substantial cereal.

As an adult, I usually choose the plain, wholesome taste and texture of Cornflakes.  The rooster is a familiar icon in the pantry.  Cornflakes may not be the most appealing box on the shelf, but it is a taste of home.

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