Over the years, I've been asked fairly often about my breakfast habits. When you get up around 2:00 a.m., folks sometimes wonder "Do you eat before you go to work?" or "Do you skip breakfast?" or "Does your wife get up and eat breakfast with you at two in the morning?" or "Do you eat, after FirstNews, at the station?" Well, here are the answers to those questions:

1. No.
2. Depends on what you call breakfast.
3. Are you kidding? When I say good-bye to my wife in the morning, she does one of two things: She continues to sleep or she continues to sleep but sits upright in the bed and says something like "You need to get the goats back in the wagon before all the hyenas return wearing tuxedos and singing Sweet Caroline. Hurry!"
4. I've never been one for eating at the station. There is a nice employee lunchroom in the new building but the maitre de requires you wear a jacket and tie. Also, I think you need to make reservations several weeks in advance. I've always been pretty sure that, if I were to eat at the station, certain fellow-workers (oh, I don't know, maybe by the name of GISH!) may contaminate my food. Nothing lethal. Just an eyelash in the yogurt or sour milk in the cereal. You may think I'm paranoid and you may be right but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily wrong. Also, in the new newsroom, eating is verboten. The penalty for being caught with food, anywhere other than the lunchroom, is severe...let's just say it involves bamboo shoots, ants, honey and the musical stylings of Barney the Dinosaur, played on a continuous, loud loop. It reminds me of the time my dad took us to the A&W in our new dark purple Pontiac Le Mans. What was he thinking? All the way there he told us we'd better not spill anything and he'd better not find even one french fry in the backseat. Well, of course, a chocolate shake went down the speaker...maybe I thought Jerry Vale sounded thirsty. Then, there was the Great Hot Dog Stuffing contest to see how many wieners would fit in the backseat ash-trays. Needless to say, none of this kind of monkey-business would be tolerated in the new newsroom. (In an odd twist on the rules, we are allowed to have monkeys in the new newsroom.)

My personal breakfast routine is as follows: the night before, I fill a small plastic cup with Cheerios. I have eaten Cheerios since I was a baby. When I'm feeling extra sporty, I may actually have a bowl with milk on them. If I'm really in a devil-may-care mood, I'll add sugar. Cheerios are just bland enough to make the phrase "you are what you eat" perfectly applicable to me and my food choices. I've always felt Rice Krispies are too chatty first thing in the morning. Cocoa Puffs threaten my mental well-being and I'm just plain scared of that Trix rabbit. I'd eat Wheaties, but I find the box hard to open. Occasionally, when we are out of Cheerios, I'll eat corn flakes. Again, you are what you eat. As a child, my mom tried to get me to eat oatmeal by putting chocolate chips in it. Once I was convinced they really were chocolate chips and not something else, I just ate the chocolate and let the oatmeal go cold. I tried to feed it to our dog but she was more of an bacon and eggs mutt.

So, I bring my dry Cheerios in the car and eat them on the way. I also put in two pieces of candy. Dove Dark Chocolate. My mom insists these are good for you. They supposedly help prevent cancer, lower your blood pressure, thicken your thinning hair, help you lose weight, allow you to smell like rose petals and dance better. My mom can find the Dove Dark Chocolates in any store, anywhere, in a matter of seconds. It's all about good health. As I mentioned, the Cheerios are gone by the time I arrive at the station. I eat the first Dove (the candy, not the bird. I'm not Ozzie Osbourne!) around 4:34 a.m. Then, at 7:34, I eat the second one. As I write this, I'm starting to think I need to see some sort of therapist. Actually, the candy itself may provide some better mental health. After opening the foil around the candy, on the inside, you can find pithy little sayings. (By pithy, I mean "abounding in pith!") For example, this morning's message was "Promise yourself a smile today," which is certainly a better wish than "Promise yourself a root canal, today."

Another I've seen says "Treat yourself to a relaxing bath." Now, I took that to mean "You stink. Please, bathe!" Lately, that one probably applies. The shower in our bathroom is not usable right now due to some caulking issues. You know you've got a problem when the weather report calls for light sprinkles in your living room. Anyway, I'm supposed to be using the bathtub and shower in the boys' bathroom but that room frightens me so I've been taking what my grandma used to call "bird baths." I've been told by my wife that a "bird bath" sounds cute when the one cleaning up is a baby or toddler or, even, little kid. But, when a middle-aged man rejects showering in favor of something called a "bird bath," that simply doesn't cut it. She also doesn't appreciate the fact that when I do a "bird bath" I stand on one foot and cackle. I've also started to molt. But, as usual, I have wandered far from the point of this cyber-screed.

Some of the messages in the candy wrapper are seasonal in nature, "Sit and watch the leaves fall." The next one you open should probably say, "Now, get up off your fat duff and rake them." Another that pops up now and then says "Flirting is mandatory." I'm not even sure what that means but I'd have to alter that to say, if you're a married person, "Flirting is ill-advised and, perhaps, in extreme cases, actionable in court." Most of the sayings are along the lines of "Smile!" "Whistle a happy tune!" "Make your own sunshine!" "Life is about chances!" "Seize the day!" If Norman Vincent Peale and Russell Stover had gone into business together, they'd have come up with something like this.

I know the messages are meant to be uplifting and inspirational but I think I need something a bit more to the point and forceful. "After this treat, lose some weight." "Don't be such a smart aleck." "Wipe that smirk off your face." "Sit up straight." "Pick up your stuff." "Just who do you think you are?" "Is that the best you can do?" "This is life so deal with it." "Quit whining." You know, a little sour with the sweet. I'd also go for a message along the lines of "Here are your winning Powerball numbers...." or "The Mastercard people have misplaced your account information" or "Money can't buy happiness but look under your bed for a stack of unmarked bills and see if you frown."

Well, before I wrap this up, let me open one more and share it with you. Okay, inside the foil it says...uh...well...I can't really make it out...It says nothing at all. No message from the Dove people. Wonder what that's all about. Have they given up on me? Fine. Whatever. I'm still going to eat the chocolate! The true breakfast of champions!