Or just a sad day in breakfast world.
Some mornings, I wake up early, get my shower, drink my coffee and eat my grits and toast while watching the Today show.
That’s some mornings, not most. Tuesday was like most mornings.
I woke up with a startling realization that my alarm had already angrily beep-beep-beeped at me—twice—while I snoozed peacefully and blissfully unaware of its attempts to rouse me from my sleep. I jumped out of bed and quickly began my morning ritual—the abbreviated version. Brush my hair, attempt to restore some sort of life to it, brush my teeth, find something to wear that fits the following three criteria: A) It looks the same whether it’s wrinkled or ironed, B) I’ve not already worn it that week, and C) It doesn’t smell (at least, not to a point where it’s offensive). Luckily, I found a few items that fit into every category.
As I rushed to work, I remembered one very important part of my morning that had been neglected until I was already speeding along to work: breakfast. Fortunately, I have a nice stash of treats in my desk drawer, just waiting to be summoned for this very purpose.
When I arrived at work, I surveyed the drawer with some dismay: a Ziploc full of pretzels, a granola bar that’s really just seen better days, a few root beer barrels, and a mini Snickers. Hm. Not what I was expecting.
As I was about the shut the drawer and pilfer around in the fridge downstairs to see what foods I might have forgotten about in there, I saw a peek of shiny silver under some papers. Pushing those to the side, I found something most exciting: a cinnamon sugar Fiber One toaster pastry! (A mouthful of words, I know. And it’s really just a Pop-Tart. But I know from being around AP style for some time that Pop-Tart is a brand….not a food item.)
Anyway, the toaster pastry.
Not only had I found something that is actually considered a “breakfast” option, it was cinnamon sugar. Which, in the words of a co-worker, everyone knows is the best. While there’s no toaster at work, there is a microwave. And while some may scoff at the idea of preparing such a pastry in a microwave, don’t knock it till you’ve wanted your tart so badly and tried it. I cooked said toaster pastry’s former wrapper mate in the same manner, and it was delish.
I couldn’t remember how long to set the timer for, so I just randomly selected a time and figured I’d take it out when I felt it necessary. I chose a seat at a table near the mic and watched the pastry spin round and round as my eyes glazed over, much like the sweet cinnamony goodness topping my treat.
As I was awaiting breakfast bliss, the president of our company walked into the break room. We began to make small talk, when I noticed something strange out of the corner of my eye: A small cinnamon sugar volcano was erupting from the center of my Fiber One toaster pastry.
“No!” I cried. “My pastry is burning!”
I immediately ceased conversation and shut off the microwave that wa,s in essence, cremating my breakfast. He gave me a short of “yeesh, sorry” look and headed on his way to his office.
As I opened the door, smoke billowed out and up, along with the unmistakable smell of burnt sugar.
I quickly closed the door.
Not sure what to do, I stood there for a moment and watched the inside of the microwave turned a hazy gray as it filled with smoke. Trying to think on my feet, I armed myself with a plastic serving tray resting in the drain rack and boldly opened the door and proceeded to fan like a madwoman. The smoke permeated the room, looking like the ghost of my breakfast’s past. It soon dissipated, taking with it my hopes for a delicious morning treat.
I attempted to eat what remained, but I was soon deterred when I realized it was scorched from the inside out.
Forgive me, Fiber One toaster pastry, for I knew not what I did.
I'm so sorry, little friend.
