Ripped cereal bag starts mornings off wrong

I need all the encouragement I can get in the morning.

It doesn't matter how well things might be going, I am not a person who enjoys being woken up in the morning.

If I can't wake up on my own, preferably some point around 11 a.m., then I usually emerge from my slumber with a large sense of impending doom.

My morning soundtrack is peppered by a number of groans and muffled cries of "Oh no" as I shuffle through my morning routine.

But the cry becomes particularly profound and heartwrenching when it comes to the task of opening the plastic bag inside the box which holds my cereal.

People should not be asked to perform such complex tasks first thing in the morning. There's so much potential to go wrong.

As I've matured, I've become wiser, so for the most part, I know it does little good to simply grasp the bag by its ends and pull.

My muscles are apparently so muscular, instead of tearing the bag open at the top all nice and perfect, all I am able to do is rip the bag down along its sides, resulting in a blizzard of sugary goodness all over.

Moreover, the gaping holes which remain send little berry pieces or Froot Loops skittering down the walls of the cardboard box into dark nothingness with every shake, forever lost.

It's one heck of a downer, right off the bat.

Not only that, but then it serves as a constant reminder of my general ineptitude for the rest of the week, or for as long as there's still cereal in the box. And let me tell you, some cereals linger for quite a long period of time.

Each time I start the morning off fresh, usually with a new chorus of groans, only to open the bag, having completely forgotten the tragic events which occurred the day before.

And each time, the sight of the bag, shredded into some kind of indistinguishable mess, catches me off-guard anew.

Oh, I forge ahead like the trooper I am, shaking cereal into the bowl and swearing as I bend over to catch those pieces which run errant, or else I risk treading upon them later, grinding them into a fine Apple Jack powder upon my kitchen tiles. Which only means further effort and clean-up.

You see?!? It's a slippery slope of even more work, and here you thought it was just a lame torn plastic cereal bag. Pesky, perhaps, bothersome, sure, but not the root of all evil.

Thank goodness I am here to tell you different.

Everything bad that ever happens in your week, be it at work, home, or even your nightmares, can be traced back to that blasted torn cereal bag.