The First Stirring of Love (Part III)

Part I || Part II
The end of our brief relationship hit me hard. Although I had only known Michelle for a short period, I had high expectations for our romance. After all, most girls just aren’t that flirtatious. Most are unwilling to blow out their colon regularly. Even Trader Joe’s High Fiber Cereal wasn’t popular with girls. After all, light sugary fare (which could hardly be considered a real meal) has a the bubblegum pop-music feel so many girls adore.
My hopes had been focused on Michelle, like sunlight through a magnifying glass. I’ve been through a lot of relationships in the recent past, with a lot of wonderful women, but nothing had really worked out. It felt like I was throwing the sticky men included in bags of cereal who flop down walls at the monolithic wall of life, but they all slid down eventually. I thought she’d stick. To make matters worse, I began building her up in my mind, making her into someone who couldn’t possibly exist.
Daydreaming at my job, I’d imagine us going to the supermarket in the afternoon, and walking down the cereal isle with arms outstretched, two carts abreast, knocking boxes right into the baskets. I imagined us touring the General Mills factory. We’d be eating Basic 4 straight off the assembly line, and in would burst Dave Mackay, CEO of Kellogg’s, in the nude, and he’d empty boxes of Rice Crispies all over us. A week’s worth of nights were wasted staring vacuously at the television screen. But what I was really imagining was her hopping through the door dressed as Trix rabbit, and she’d finally get to taste my fresh Trix.
I’m not a discriminating lover. I tolerated a girl who insisted we eat Rice Crispies dressed as Snap and Crackle, with her greasy high school boyfriend playing the role of Crunch. But I have to draw a line somewhere. As long as a girl fills her bowl with cereal before she pours the milk, we’re basically ok. If she doesn’t – it’s over.
After all – where’s the intimacy? They say relationships should be based on more than breakfast, but I just can’t see it. Breakfast ensures physical connectedness, after all, and that can’t be discounted.
So I missed Michelle, but it wasn’t really her that I missed – just the concept she stood for. Someone whose cereal I could pour, or who could sweep up when I tried emptying Cheerios through a torn cellulose bag. It was really the graceful cereal pouring of Lindsay – sweet, sweet Lindsay – who I missed, even after two years.
But I was done with Michelle.

The First Stirring of Love (Part II)

Part I

We went to a popular Chinese buffet, the next night – the girl from Trader Joe’s (her name was Michelle), and myself. A dish and half into the meal, I confided in her:

“I think the food here is kind of dull.” It had been my idea to eat out in first place, but frankly the date wasn’t going well.

“Why don’t we head back to my apartment, and I’ll cook us some real food?”

“That- that sounds great.” She hesitated, as if she didn’t want to say too much, “I love a man who can cook. What were you planning on making?”

“Your choice – I have Cheerios, Cornflakes, Raisin Bran, Basic 4, Honey Bunches of Oats, Lucky Charms, High Fiber Cereal – even some vintage Cocoa Puffs!” If there’s one thing I’m damn proud of, it’s my diverse tastes and cooking ability.

“Sounds good. Let’s jet,” there wasn’t any hesitation – not anymore. Her face was flushed with anticipation.
And that was the start of the real problem. Because, though I enjoyed her company, it all felt too easy. Not that I wanted the ‘thrill of the hunt’ per se – but just that I began to wonder – who else had she eaten breakfast with? The day before, had she eaten eggs benedict with a biker from LA? Or was it Eggo waffles with a lawyer from Boston? Pop Tarts with a British pimp? Who knew? I felt a bit uneasy, but I gamely told her to follow me to my apartment in her own car.

In my apartment, I presented my selection of cereals, and poured us some orange juice. Then we began the mundane pre-game routine. We each went to the bathroom to wash our hands, and while she was washing, I got out the milk, and the bowls, and the spoons – a slightly shameful ritual that’s never discussed.

She came out of the bathroom looking beautiful, and I slid the bowl toward her. And then things fell apart. Casually grabbing the milk carton, she poured milk into the bowl. She was pouring the milk first!! I stood with slack-jawed for a few moments. I didn’t think that anyone could be so barbarous. When I collected my senses, I firmly walked her to the door, ignoring her protests, pushed her out and slammed it in her face. Good riddance!

The First Stirring of Love

Shopping at my local Trader Joe’s supermarket, I saw their shelves stocked high with boxes of High Fiber Cereal (yes, that’s the cereal name). It’s a delicious cereal, so I filled my cart with boxes- dozens of them, because Trader Joe’s cycles inventory, and will sometimes replace a product.

I blindly chose the shortest line at the registers, so it was only upon reaching the cashier that I saw how beautiful she was – elegant, but with the approachable, earthy mein of girls who appreciate Trader Joe’s. She started scanning my items: soy milk, yogurt, and then high fiber cereal – 18 boxes of it. A unique purchase: I felt compelled to justify myself.

“I’m blowing out my colon tonight,” I explained, with all the nonchalance I could muster.

Her laughter bubbled like a brook, but all I could feel was the scalding heat of her boiling scorn. How foolish I had been! To assume that she cared about my personal life – though all Trader Joe’s employees are wonderfully intent on hearing about it. What was I thinking?!

Perhaps my pained expression betrayed my dismay. She paused, her lucid green eyes searing mine.

“That’s such a coincidence! I blow out my colon weekly, as well!” Looking into the fiery supernova of her eyes was too intense. “Sometimes High Fiber Cereal is all I eat for weeks on end.”

I turned away, briefly: my heart bursting with love, like Alien from an astronaut’s chest.