Breakfast of Champions

In line in front of me at CVS on Saturday (buying Gatorade after being depleted of the 30-mile ride), a college girl with reddish alternative hair reached into the convenient and transparent mini-fridge to the right of the register and pulled out a four-pack of Red Bull ($7.89 for 4, a significant price break from $1.99 a pop). "Breakfast of champions," she said to the male she had in tow, "Red Bull and Fruit Loops." Then she looked over her shoulder at me, the square guy (I was actually dressed in my better shorts and a summer party shirt, the better to perhaps dazzle the Merrill Lynch dad to whose house I was going to pick up Natalie from a play date). As I was saying, she looked at the square guy to see if he would flinch at her radical, trangressive morning repast.

And, in truth, in my dehydrated state, I was a little disgusted. Even now, having just had a refreshing and delightful beverage, Red Bull and Fruit Loops doesn't sound like breakfast. But I remember pulling shit like that myself often, trying to impress people in public places with how cool and smart I was. It did me a world of good.