Crunch

When I come home to find Lyla fussy, I lack the finesse to quell spousal rage. Stupid decisions disguise themselves as smart decisions, and soon I find myself as Private Dan getting chewed out by Sergeant Julie.

This afternoon, for instance, I chose the wrong time to crunch a mouthful of Cheerios. I walked in the door starving and asked Julie, who was struggling to get fussy Lyla to feed, whether she wanted a snack.

"I want cereal."

"Word."

So I poured two bowls and brought hers with the milk carton to the livingroom. I didn't pour her milk because I always overdo it; she likes about 1.5 teaspoons, and I refuse to measure. Then I retrieved my own bowl, returned to the livingroom, and poured my own milk. And you see where this is going. Lyla was crying in Julie's arms, and I started eating my cereal. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But you wouldn't necessarily think it was stupid, would you? There's nothing inherently stupid about eating Cheerios. Yet in this particular situation, I learned, the infraction was severe.

And now that I think about it, I guess it sort of makes sense. But it didn't at the time. How are you supposed to know when you can't eat Cheerios? I mean, she requested Cheerios. I thought that meant I had clearance to also eat Cheerios.

Women are weird.