Everybody on Route 66 is just dying for the movie to hurry up and come out, because Michael has been teasing us with little bits of information about it for the past four years.
As part of this promotional deal, Kellogg’s is putting little cars in specially marked boxes of cereal. One of the little cars is the sheriff.
A few weeks from now, when this promotion hits the shelves, Ron is going to walk into the kitchen to find me standing at the table with my arm buried up to the elbow in a box of Frosted Flakes, trying to extract my little plastic Michael car from the bottom of the box without having to wait until I finish all the cereal.
The last time I pulled a stunt like that, I was about 5, and I got a spanking for it. But I’m not 5 any more. I’m a grownup. And grownups buy their own cereal, and grownups can do whatever they want with it, and their mommies can’t do anything about it, because that’s what being a grownup is all about. So there. Nyah, nyah, nyah.
It’s good to be a grownup.
Come to think of it, let’s put that on the list of stuff I’m going to do with my new niece or nephew: As soon as the child is old enough to appreciate such pleasures, we will get out a box of sugar-sweetened cereal and plunge our arms into it in search of toys, and if the cereal turns out to be yucky, we will take it to the park and feed it to the ducks, and then we will go have some ice cream, because ice cream tastes better than cereal anyway.
And then Ashley will kick my butt. But I’m gonna be an awesome aunt.