I eat oatmeal for breakfast. Not that I particularly love oatmeal. It’s habit—and my Grandfather.
“First meal of the day should stick to your ribs,” he’d say. “Sugar? No. It’s poison! Stay away from that stuff.”
Oatmeal is bland and good for me. What was Mother Nature trying to achieve by giving me taste buds for not -good-for -me delicious foods like chocolate ice cream or sizzling steak dripping with fat? The outrage! I just wished that bland, green and fishy appealed more to me than sweet, fat and salty. Grandfather often said Mother Nature had her cruel side as a matter of necessity. I want to break free from necessity. One morning sans guilt, I will frivolously order a Sausage Egg McGriddle and Mango Chiller in the drive-thru.
One day; not today. Necessity demands that today I sit alone at my kitchen table swallowing the last bit of gruel that sticks not only to my ribs but cements me in a life of doing what is good for me.