Sometimes life is just better with oatmeal

I have developed a romantic relationship with oatmeal. My inappropriate entanglement with that scrumptious bowl of oatey-goodness began when I was just a wee thing. Back in those days, there were two things in my life that were of the utmost importance: first was my turquoise sweater with Nala on it, and second was my Dino-egg oatmeal. It was magical. Pre-boiling water, there was a small pile of dry oats in my ceramic bowl with what looked like a bunch of rock-shaped marshmallows hidden beneath the whole-grains, like a fantastic treasure hunt. However, after I poured the steaming H2O, a magical transformation occurred that could rival the pumpkin-coach metamorphosis in Cinderella. The rocky-marshmallows melted away to reveal tiny dinosaurs. You could imagine how enthralled I was that I had a personal Jurassic Park for breakfast. I than proceeded to name each one. I could never eat them after, though. You know once you name it, you start getting attached to it. Mike Wazowski said that, so it’s bonafide gold.

My relationship with oatmeal matured when I finally outgrew those fantastic dino-mellows, and graduated to naked oatmeal without the child-like luxuries. I had it every morning for breakfast, without fail, through my junior and senior years of high school. A lot of time had passed between liaisons between me and the oatmeal. I didn’t miss it, because I had founded this obscure idea that it was nasty. I think it may have been too many medieval films with graphic descriptions of porridge… or Goldilocks. Whatever, I was still a stupid.

I am pleased to report that I have reinstated a dedicated relationship with oatmeal. However, I discovered I may have somewhat of a gluten intolerance. Ah, the timely arrival of nature’s greatest gifts. For now, my breakfast must remain fruit or gluten-free breakfast bars. But I look longingly at my pantry every now and again, waiting for my chance to be reunited with oatmeal.

You may be wondering why I am so passionate about a seemingly ordinary food. Well, it’s people like you that don’t like “The Notebook”. Because you don’t understand. Just like Rachel McAdams’ mother. You know what, you’re Rachel McAdams’ mother in “The Notebook”. I bet you love oatmeal secretly, and sometimes you go to the store and look at it, and wonder why you decided to purchase cereal instead. You really loved oatmeal, but you knew it was popular to eat cereal and your blue-blood parents would never approve. Tisk, tisk.

Sometimes life is just better with oatmeal.