I am intolerant. And, Cookie Crisp.

Just in case anyone was wondering, it's true. I am. I mean, not about everything, but there are definitely a few things that I'm very intolerant of, and I'm going to be that way until the subjects of my intolerance become drastically more... agreeable to myself.

Anyways, here is my Memory of the Day.

When I was five, my mom was still in her beginning-mom stage, and therefore didn't believe in sugary cereal, Pokeman, or public water-fountains. All of these things, that were shunned in my childhood, were eventually main components in Jacob's childhood, and I'm OK with that, but whenever they appeared in my childhood, it was the founding of a future-great-story.

Take, for instance, the Cookie Crisp memories. My Aunt Steph, AKA Mom-Away-From-Mom, was the kind of mom that did allow her children to have sugary cereal (probably to make up for the fact that her children didn't get to grow up in Texas...) Anyways, I clearly remember one particular occasion when I was not yet 5, and we (me, Mark, and her two oldest kids Jess and Drew) were all getting tucked into various make-shift bed pallets at her house way past our bedtime, and I thought to myself, "I hope I sleep fast tonight so that breakfast comes soon!" The next morning, I met the epitome of you-shouldn't-be-eating-this-for-breakfast: Cookie Crisp. Instalove. For the next year, all I wanted, all I lusted after, besides Lisa Frank stickers, was Cookie Crisp. So, after many grocery-shopping trips filled with begging and me trying to hide the box in the cart like they did on TV, my mom gave in. 

Now, I don't know if you ever bought Cookie Crisp in the nineties, but they used to make the box smaller than any vegan-granola-crap on the shelves today. It was like you were paying twice as much as any other box of cereal for 3 manilla-envelopes worth of baby cookies. I understand why my mom was hesitant, but let's be honest: there are some things in this life that are just worth it. I asked her if I could sample it all afternoon, and I was told to wait until breakfast. I couldn't fall asleep that night. I woke up the next morning, ready for the breakfast of my life, and when I got to the table (where Mark was already happily munching away at his bowl of cookie goodness), I just knew that the wait had been worth it.

My mom brought over the box.

She began to angle the opening at an advantageous position for the cereal to fall into my bowl.

I salivated. I am salivating right now.

And then, AND THEN,

a half-bowl's worth of cookies became resident in my bowl, along with the sucks-for-you-cereal-dust that is present in every box of cereal beneath the actual cereal. I actually really like this dust usually, but that morning, it was uncalled for.

My mental response: 

What.

What is this.

To this day, I want to know what my face looked like. 

Apparently, my dad found the box while I was peacefully sleeping the night before, and made a midnight snack of my dreams. 

Poor hungry dad, who had to deal with an office job, two children that only wanted to be the batter when we played whiffle-ball, and no sugared cereal. Poor me, who had to go to kindergarten, play whiffle-ball, and had no sugared cereal. 

My mom promised me she'd get another box the next time she went to the store, and she did. I made my dad promise he wouldn't eat all of it, and then, with much stealth and cunning, I stole half the bag of cereal and hid it in a freezer bag in my closet under a lump of too-small-for-me-anymore clothes. I felt ridden with guilt, but I knew I couldn't tell my mom. I wanted this bag to last. I was only going to eat one cookie every day.

I forgot what happened after that, but I do know that I didn't eat a cookie every day. I probably ate the whole thing in two days, and then waited for my mom to be in the shower until I hid the empty freezer bag in the kitchen trash. Although, since I can't prove that, I might've forgotten about the bag after two days, and eventually it could've been donated to Goodwill. Either way. Cookie Crisp will forever be the cereal of my dreams and my closet.