Last night, after a long 90 minutes spent raking leaves from my abundant yard, I came inside to grab some dinner. Being cold, I felt like having something warm, so I explored my options.
Microwavable burritos? No, too soft and ethnic.
Soup? Nah. I have soup every day for lunch. Besides, the whole meaning and context of soup has changed in this post-9/11 world.
A heated orange? What kind of stupid suggestion is that? Why would you even say that to me right now?
In the end, I reached deep into the darkest recesses of our pantry and grabbed an old box of Malt-O-Meal. When I say this Malt-O-Meal was old, I’m saying it easily goes back to my days as a single man. As a matter of fact, this box of Malt-O-Meal expired in May, 2004.
In other words, it’s time for dinner.
My Malt-O-Meal did not feature the delightful berries pictured above, nor was it visually appealing in any way whatsoever. Instead, my Malt-O-Meal looked like one of our cats had gotten sick in a breakfast bowl. Undaunted, I mixed in some rich, nutritious milk and stirred. The steamy concoction, though visually appalling, provided a banquet of delights for my ample tongue and nostils. Like liquid gold, the creamy paste-meal warmed my quivering lips and became intimate with my tongue. It caressed my inner cheek like the smooth hands of an experienced lover and its essence sated my father wounds. My Malt-O-Meal warmed me on a cool Autumn evening, and in turn, my tears of healing dripped back into the malted cream of omniscience.
This was no ordinary meal, my friends. This was a symbiotic circle of restoration.
Then I barfed.
i also raked leaves last night. just think, peter and i were out in our yards at the same time, doing the same thing. absolutely cosmic… and beautiful! only i didn’t bag the leaves… i raked them all into neat piles but it got late so i came in. and now i look out the window at the wind blowing furiously, and am realizing my work may have been in vain… crap.
That last paragraph was really good. A
Speaking of leaves, I came home from Wiscinson this past weekend. (I recently moved in with my brother) and saw that my brother had used his leaf blower to blow all the leaves from the yard into the driveway. We have a long driveway and live in a wooded area and there was a 3 foot high pile of leaves completely covering the driveway all the way up to my car.
My brother had left and I was in a hurry to go to a Ukrainian church event. SO I just had to throw the car in reverse and plow thru the leaves. Wasn’t too difficult. I did leave a huge pile of them in the street though as I took off.
I sculpted a girlfriend from Malt-O-Meal.
I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with that, Thom. What one man does in the privacy of his basement apartment is his own business.
it’s funny how adam grades your posts. well, as a teacher, you grade people all the time so i guess the tables should rightly be turned. incidentally, i loved this one. i also give it an A.
hey, i have a box of approximately 3-year-old Success Rice in my cupboard. maybe if i eat it i’ll become a success at something!
sarah’s leaf experience would make a great action film.
I wish Malt-o-Meal tasted like it smells in Northfield. Especially 3 year old Malt-o-Meal!
I raked yesterday, too. Three hours and 14 bags later, I could barely move. Luckily, I decided on the maple and brown sugar oatmeal over the Malt-O-Meal, which I have never seen or heard of.
crap… i logged on for today’s post and remebered peter doesn’t blog on wednesdays. i guess i’ll have to amuse myself with the Savage Love column on the City Pages site… there’s a new one each wednesday. but it sure doen’t take the place of my beloved JLP!
Thanks for not judging me, Peter.
hi thom, i see you’re living in yesterday’s post as well.
we are a sad people.
say, can i borrow your Malt-O-Meal sculpture sometime?
I have to work on Friday or Saturday, so “her” schedule is open then. I call “her” Malty.
in exchange i’ll let you borrow my Wilford Brimley blow-up doll.
You all speak so freely of your Hot Wheat Cereal love, but what happened between me and the Quaker Oatmeal guy would only be cheapened by words.
Tim Hoppes…I will be forever in your debt.