I arose from my bed and drew the crisp air into my lungs. No one enjoys mornings as much as me. After dressing myself in only the coziest of pajamas and drinking the freshest chamomile tea known to mankind, I prepared for possibly the most exciting part of my average day: breakfast. I hopped to the kitchen, stretching out every groggy muscle along the way like a cat after a long nap, and pried open the doors to the pantry. In front of me stretched my most prized collections: granola, oatmeal, cereals, waffle and pancake mix, and any fixings any sane human could imagine. I snatched up the newly opened box of my favorite kind of Special K and pranced to the long-time home of the milk jug. The light from the fridge framed my face, brimming with a smile, and the produce and condiments smiled back at me with glee. That joy came to an abrupt end, as the weight of my ill-prepared morning came crashing down like an anvil onto my cheery reality. Searching frantically, I grasped and threw anything in the way of my targeted item, but the large, clear milk jug was no where to be found. My morning was in ruins, and the smile fell from my face into pieces beneath my feet, just as did my cereal as made a poor attempt to pour it back into the slim cardboard cereal box. My perfect morning was in tatters, and I crawled back into bed.
