can't a girl catch a break? or at least the sugar?

I had a rough day. I know it's only Tuesday, but still. A ROUGH Tuesday.

I left class mentally and emotional exhausted. I rode the subway home and almost forgot to get off because I quite simply didn't know where I was. I walked home in the dark, my feet sore and aching from the self-inflicted torture of giant boots with giant heels worn fruitlessly in the hopes that some hot guy at work would come over and say "Hey, Tiffany, I wanna get wid you." All I wanted to do is get home, take my boots off, eat dinner, and go to sleep.

So I get home. I check the mail for my shitty credit card offers and obnoxious catalogs. I trudge up the steep stairs in my steep boots, and unlock the door. It sticks, but my hands are full, so I push it open with my head which hurts AND looks stupid to the neighbors who are spying on me through their peephole. I sigh, and throw my bags on the bed, and put my hair in a ponytail, and take off my boots. I even wrap my still-slightly-injured foot with a bandage. Aaah, sweet relief.

I open the fridge and all the cabinets to take inventory for my dinner options. I want simple. I want easy. I want quick. I see eggs, bread, cheese, pasta, peanut butter, milk, cheese, and cheerios. 'Mmm," I think. "Cheerios."

So I pour a giant bowl of Cheerios and feel my anxieties fade as I retreat into a hearty bowl of childhood simplicity. I add the milk, then think I want toast too, with cinnamon and sugar. Cinnamon and sugar make me happy. So I throw a couple slices of bread into the toaster, then grab a spoon, and take a giant crunchy bite of O's. Mmmm.

I go back into the fridge and take out the butter. I add it to the 18 square-inch counter space my kitchen has to offer, half of which is taken up with a toaster oven, unused coffee maker, and cookbooks. I open the cabinet and reach in for the cinnamon, which starts a chain reaction of disaster.

First, the cinnamon knocks over the salt shaker. The salt shaker seems to believe it should be a part of every meal and almost ALWAYS jumps out of the cabinet. So I am good at anticipating it, and managed to get my hand under it before it landed in my Cheerios, which sat directly below the cabinet. I said in my worst French accent (a la Lumiere) "Ah, but monseiur salt, you cannot be in my Chay-ree-os!" But before I knew it, right behind it came the giant tupperware container of monsieur sugar. I had the salt shaker in one hand and cinnamon in the other, and could do NOTHING to prevent the inevitable messy plop of the sugar bowl into my cereal.

SPLASH! Milk and Cheerios go everywhere. It's on the counter, it's dripping down the fridge, it's all over the floor, and it's all over me. Nearly in tears, and lacking a garbage disposal, I bring my forsaken bowl of O's to the bathroom and flush them. (I don't trust the outside of the sugarbowl against my food, no matter how hungry I am.) Meanwhile, the toaster pops up my bread, which is getting colder by the second, meaning my butter won't melt properly nor fuse with the sugary spread.

I go back to the kitchen, stubbing my baby toe on the chair leg on the way, and hobble to the counter. I re-pour the cereal, re-pour the milk, and move the cereal to the table where it will be safe. I hobble back to the counter, and take a five-count to prevent further disaster. I then get another plate for my toast, spread the butter, and let it melt while I wash the milk off the friggin' sugar bowl so I can have some for my toast.

Meanwhile, all under my feet I can feel the salt that sprayed the house while it was cartwheeling out of the cabinet. It feels nice all mixed with milk and Cheerios crumbs, especially on my ankle bandage which is now doubling as a quilted quicker picker upper. I eventually clean the sugar bowl, pop off the lid, add some to my toast, and put it away. With it, I put away the cinnamon shaker, realizing too late that I'd forgotten to first use it. But I thought the risk of repeating the avalanche wasn't worth the cinnamony satisfaction, so I left it alone.

Eventually, I sat down with soggy second-hand cheerios, under-spiced toast, and a glass of juice. I ate my food and hummed Milli Vanilli songs, and tried once again to get lost in the childhood simplicty of a bowl of Cheerios.