...Would they be more or less delicious? An investigation by character sketch.*
Duffin. Just a baby, a baby born of Donut and Muffin, a baby that has begun to appear seemingly everywhere (sure, his parents travel, but there's a certain malevolent quality to his omnipresence). Very cute, a wee thing and so innocent with such pinch-able cheeks, but somehow also terrifying. Doesn't speak yet. Could be part corn, which means trouble. (See: Children of the)
Bagel. Just a carb, piled up with a bunch of his kin (Garlic, Salt, Poppy, Sesame, greedy Everything, and the black sheep of the family, Blueberry), eyeing some Cream Cheese, and asking it to love him. Bagel is, shall we say, the Eeyore of breakfast foods. The fact that he has a hole in his core is not beyond the notice of anyone, and, in fact, he was made that way on purpose, but it’s left him with a gaping dissatisfaction and a powerful need to compensate. He whines a lot, but he is delicious. Parboiled. Says therapy is for suckers.
Bloody Mary. Not just anything. Prefers “Mary” to that awful nickname she was given freshman year, which, she feels, is somewhat insulting, though it wouldn’t do to let anyone know that. Mary’s the eldest in a big family, the one charged as caretaker since Dad was always working and mom tended to be too sauced to get out of bed. She’s responsible, striking, and has a temper. Drinks only on special occasions, like brunch, but can hold her liquor. Cooks an excellent meatloaf.
Coffee. There’s something funny about Coffee. He was unpopular in high school, played clarinet and never got laid, not once (everyone was all about Cereal in those days), but ever since he graduated college and went on to become one of the world’s top neuroscientists everyone wants to be his friend. He’s humble, yet versatile—and hot, unless you’ve done him wrong, and then he can be cold as ice (but tasty, nonetheless). He owns a tux for fancy parties, but is just as comfortable wearing old sweats and chilling out on couch all day. Gives invigorating hugs.
Turkey Bacon. Healthier than her cousin Bacon-Bacon, she’s always had a bit of a self-esteem crisis, which is why she works out so much and you feel like she’s always judging your Eggs Benedict. Talks a lot about her Canadian boyfriend.
Cream of Wheat. Frequently seen palling around with Oatmeal, though you suspect the two of them can’t stand one another and only hang out because no one else gets their weird sense of humor, which is really not funny so much as warm and gloopy and a bit sloppy. Everybody’s mother approves, though, because she’s so “nice.” (Better with salt and pepper.)
Oatmeal. See above. (Better with honey and berries.) Likes older men.
Cronut. Keeps people waiting and a bit full of himself. Might be in league with questionable types. Known for his evocative eyebrows and expensive tastes. Has recently taken to arriving at parties and asking if Duffin is there before agreeing to stay.
Yogurt. Always going on about his family in Greece.
Grapefruit. Hard to get to know, a bit stringy (she says she never diets and it’s just her genes). Appealingly hued and dresses well, but leaves a funky aftertaste. People claim she’s great, and good for you, too but is she? It’s hard to tell. An enigma wrapped in a peel. Sometimes very sour. Has a weird habit of bringing her own spoons to restaurants.
Omelette. The belle of the ball, the high school sweetheart (of Cereal), the cheerleader and the debate captain all rolled into one. Perfectly coordinated; her bags and shoes usually match. Has a high-powered job in law, or maybe it’s accounting; whatever she tries, she’s pretty decent at, but sometimes in her darkest times (with she shares with no one) she wonders who the hell she’s really supposed to be. Was a French maid last Halloween, for some reason.
Cereal. Captain of the football team. Used to date Omelette until she moved to the big city and started going to brunch all the time. Runs a car dealership in his hometown, likes cartoons (his tastes are simple, though varied). Has been seen canoodling with Grapefruit, but everyone knows he’ll really end up with Milk.
Toast. Dry as they come, this one, unless he’s sopping up Butter (watch out for Butter!) or trying to cozy up to Omelette, who might brush up against him but never seems to notice him. Toast is a good guy, though, really. He’s reliable, he never judges when you tell him what mortifying thing you did the night before at the bar, and rumor has it that if his principles are challenged, he has a backbone of pure crust.
*Note: This is not a complete list.
Previously: The Last, Best Time We Met (!)
Photo via edenphotos/flickr.
Jen Doll is a regular contributor to The Hairpin.