Worst Breakfast Ever

Dear Mrs. Corman, my deepest apologies, but I will not be able to do any work today, whatsoever.

You see, there has been a tragic accident, it happened this morning in my toaster. I got up at my usual getting up time, and decided that this morning instead of my usual bowl of cheerieos/aztec flakes/craisins and banana, I would have an english muffin. Just to mix it up a bit. So I sliced one in half and stuck each half in the toaster, adjusting the little knobbler to the correct cooking intensity.

While I was waiting for my breakfast to pop I got distracted, I had to make a lunch and find some clean clothes and find my homework. I forgot about my english muffin all together, until I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and I heard my mom yell, “I’m gonna warm up you’re english muffin again.”

“Noooo,” I spluttered through a mouthful of toothpaste, but she didn’t hear me. By the time I’d finished up in the bathroom, it was too late.

“Oh so what it’s a little crispy!” scolded my mother, who insisted I eat it.

“I had it the way I like it. You eat it.” was my cold reply.

I stared at the poor little muffin from acorss the kitchen, I couldn’t bring myself to go near it. The way it just sat there, innocently mocking me. My eyes swelled with angry tears. How could anyone think of eating that rock hard, whole wheat hockey puck? It would break your teeth and choke your throat. I tried to imagine slathering it in butter and soaking it in organic honey, but nothing made it seem remotely edible. My whole day was over before it even began.

I thought about waiting until my mother wasn’t looking and just toss it in the can. But she would notice that, and then maybe take it out of the garbage and make me eat it then! That would be horrible! So on my way out the door I clutched it in my clenched fist and carried it all the way to school where I disposed of the burnt bread in the first trash can I came across.

You see Mrs. Corman, when things like this happen to me, my whole day is ruined. It’s all I can think about for hours, and the more I think about it and let it fester in my mind, the more angry I become. And when I’m angry I just can’t focus on working, especially writing, because good writing is dynamic, and when I’m so full of rage my writing quickly becomes nothing but senseless ranting. And I wouldn’t want to make you read anything like that, so I think it would be best if I just took the day off. Anyway, I work very well in class usually, so I probably deserve the day off, to wallow in my own breakfastless misery.

Sincerly, your best student, Carrie.