Pickled Nonsense: Breakfast Cake

Mornings can make or break your day; which side of the bed you get up on could mean the difference between getting through your day like a normal human being and having a complete meltdown by 5pm. The reason for this is because the start of a day decides the starting point for your mood, which will determine how well you deal with whatever gets thrown at you during the eight hours that follow. You want to avoid getting up on the

wrong side.

I imagine a gator would be on the wrong side of my bed.

Today, I had a really excellent start to my day. I woke up and realized I was out of cereal, so I made myself a bowl of ice cream with Hershey’s syrup to eat with a slice of breakfast cake. Breakfast cake is cake you eat for breakfast; it can be chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, frosted, unfrosted, anything—just has to be eaten for breakfast. I once had a boss who introduced me to this idea and I really don't know how I got along before it.

If you haven’t had breakfast cake before then you should try it—assuming you are of age. Once you are 24, you can eat whatever you want for breakfast.

After breakfast I came into work and dealt with jerks for eight hours straight. Is it a full moon or something? Work isn’t like this every day for me; yes, I deal with crazies on a daily basis, but to be completely saturated in them from nine to five without a break is out of the ordinary. Fortunately, since I started out my day tremendously well, my mood is still pretty darn good. If I had started out my day like most mornings, I would be in serious trouble right now.

Clearly, starting my day off without cake is actually dangerous – and not just for me, but for everyone around me.

Danger for me: Jail. I don’t want to end up in jail— I would have to choose a gang to become a part of and learn what shanking means. Also, I'm pretty scrawny and defenseless (think female version of Leonardo DiCaprio as Arnie in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?, only less retarded and somewhat prettier), so I would almost definitely be made someone’s bitch about ten minutes into it.

Being someone’s bitch in lady jail sounds like it involves a lot of hair pulling and pinching, especially if you disobey your new dominating prison friend. This doesn’t bode well for my survival since I don’t follow directions well and bruise easily. Plus, I don’t like the idea of not shaving my legs and I have to imagine you aren’t allowed a razor in there.