The Dangers of Cinnamon Toast

Cinnamon toast was a great treat when I was growing up. It's not too bad now, either, come to think of it. I was the middle of six children with two older sisters and three younger brothers. Breakfast at our house was always a scramble for whatever you wanted to fix that day. There was usually cereal and some instant oatmeal. But the big draw for breakfast was poptarts.

Mom only bought so many, and the rule was first come first served. One morning I rummaged through the kitchen and found two poptarts that had not yet been claimed. I enjoyed them thoroughly, and was just finishing up when my brother, a year and a half younger than me, came into the kitchen.

Apparently he knew there were two poptarts recently because he went directly to the cabinet for them. When he realized they were gone, he demanded to know who had eaten "his" poptarts.

"I did," I told him with no remorse. "Your name wasn't on them. You snooze, you lose." (I was so clever back then. And I usually got up earlier than he did.)

Brother insisted that, since I had eaten his breakfast, I owed him something. he demanded that I make cinnamon toast for him.

If it was in the kitchen it was fair game, and I hadn't done anything wrong. I started to tell him what to do with his cinnamon toast and his sense of entitlement when a thought stopped me. I swallowed my anger and managed to smile. (He should have known then to watch out.)

"Fine," I agreed. "I'll make your cinnamon toast. Two slices?"

"Four."

I carefully toasted and buttered the bread and then sprinkled it with sugar. Then I reached into the cabinet and used the cinnamon on one slice. The other three slices got healthy doses of chili powder. Hey, it's the same color! I popped it into the microwave just long enough to melt the sugar and then took the plate to him.

"Here you are," I said cheerfully. And here's where my full genius lies. I knew he would be suspicious if I were too happy to serve. So I pulled the piece of authentic cinnamon toast off the plate and ate it, telling him that was my pay for fixing his breakfast. He gave a token protest and then settled down to his breakfast.

Would you believe he scarfed down all three pieces of toast without hesitation? I waited until the last bite  disappeared and then asked sweetly, "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

"Yes," he answered graciously. "Thank you for fixing it for me."

"Your welcome. And did you enjoy the chili powder I used instead of cinnamon?"

He stared at me in shock for a moment before the storm broke. The upshot was, he told Mom, but when she heard the whole story, she said he deserved what he got.

I win.

This is my memory for this Monday's Memories. Tell the truth. How many of you have pulled a prank of a sibling? Care to confess here?

How many of you read this story and then immediately thought, "She ate two poptarts and a piece of cinnamon toast for breakfast?" I'll have you know I was in high school, and I could eat a whole lot more than that without gaining a ounce. Who's laughing now?