Like religion, politics, and family planning, cereal is not a

Host: The morning diner buzzed with the lazy rhythm of a small-town hum — the hiss of the grill, the clatter of ceramic plates, the faint tinkle of a bell above the door that swung open every few minutes to let in another weary commuter chasing caffeine and routine. The light through the front windows was a syrupy gold, catching on the edges of coffee cups and half-eaten pancakes.

Jack sat at the counter, elbows propped, a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him. Jeeny sat beside him, spooning sugar into her bowl of cereal — which, judging by the wry tilt of her smile, was the true subject of their morning’s philosophy.

Pinned to the corkboard behind the counter — half-hidden among menus and coupons — was the day’s quote:

“Like religion, politics, and family planning, cereal is not a topic to be brought up in public. It’s too controversial.” — Erma Bombeck

Jeeny: “You know, she’s right. You mention cereal in the wrong crowd, and suddenly everyone’s a zealot.”

Jack: “Oh please. That’s because cereal is the last sacred battlefield of breakfast. Everyone has a side, and no one’s willing to switch.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You’ve got the purists—plain oats, no sugar, no nonsense. The idealists—fruit loops and faith in childhood. And the cynics—coffee and regret.”

Jack: “Guess which one I am.”

Jeeny: “Cynic with a splash of caffeine.”

Jack: “Guilty. But you—” he gestures at her bowl “—you’re a fanatic. You treat breakfast like it’s a moral cause.”

Jeeny: “Because it is! You can tell everything about a person by their cereal. It’s philosophy in a bowl.”

Host: The waitress passed by, refilling their coffee without asking. The soft radio near the register hummed an old country song — the kind where heartbreak sounds like a sunrise. Outside, the street was waking slowly. Inside, Jack and Jeeny’s conversation had begun to sound less like banter and more like ritual.

Jack: “So, what you’re saying is, cereal is just religion disguised as fiber.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Think about it. Everyone thinks their brand is the original truth. People preach it. Defend it. Raise their kids on it. Switch brands, and suddenly you’re a heretic.”

Jack: “And the worst part? Nobody ever admits they might be wrong. Just like politics.”

Jeeny: “Right. Or marriage advice. Or family planning.”

Jack: “And we wonder why the world’s divided. It’s not because of ideology—it’s because half the world thinks granola is breakfast and the other half calls it trail mix.”

Jeeny: “You’re proving Bombeck’s point.”

Jack: “That cereal’s too controversial?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We can’t even joke about it without accidentally inventing a manifesto.”

Host: The door bell chimed again. A man in a suit walked in, glanced at the clock, and ordered toast “to-go.” The diner, timeless in its simplicity, seemed to hold every archetype of humanity: the commuter, the dreamer, the cynic, the couple lost in debate.

Jeeny stirred the milk in her bowl thoughtfully.

Jeeny: “But that’s why I love her humor. She takes something small—domestic, ordinary—and suddenly, it’s the mirror of the human condition. We can’t even pour cereal without politics.”

Jack: “Yeah. Bombeck saw it all hiding in plain sight. The absurdity, the self-importance, the way we attach our identity to nonsense.”

Jeeny: “That’s because we need the nonsense. The small arguments. They keep us from tearing each other apart over the big ones.”

Jack: “So you’re saying cereal debates are society’s pressure valve.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We laugh about flakes and fiber because laughing about faith and failure is too hard before breakfast.”

Host: Jack chuckled, the sound dry but genuine. He took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle the morning fog in his head.

Jack: “You know, I grew up in a house where breakfast was silent. My old man said mornings were for work, not words. But my mother—she’d slide a box of cereal across the table like a peace offering. That was her way of saying, ‘We’re still a family.’”

Jeeny: “Even if you weren’t talking?”

Jack: “Especially when we weren’t.”

Jeeny: “That’s the thing about food—it carries the conversations we’re too afraid to have.”

Jack: “Yeah. And Bombeck knew that. She wrote about the everyday absurdities, but there was always tenderness under it. A joke that hid a sigh.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Humor as survival. Laughing at the madness to keep from drowning in it.”

Jack: “And cereal as metaphor.”

Jeeny: “Always.”

Host: The waitress placed the check face down beside them. The morning crowd was thinning now, the sound of spoons against porcelain fading into the comfortable hush of routine.

Jeeny glanced at Jack’s empty cup, then at her half-finished bowl.

Jeeny: “You know, it’s funny. Bombeck said cereal was controversial, but I think she meant that everything’s controversial when people forget how to laugh.”

Jack: “Yeah. We’ve lost the art of harmless debate. Everyone’s too busy trying to win breakfast.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. But humor—real humor—reminds us that we’re all ridiculous anyway.”

Jack: “And that it’s okay to be ridiculous. As long as we still pass the milk.”

Jeeny: smiling “There’s your theology right there.”

Jack: “Breakfast theology. Eat, laugh, forgive.”

Host: The door bell chimed again as the two stood to leave. The sunlight had climbed higher, painting the diner in soft amber light. Jeeny left a few bills on the counter, tucking the quote under the edge of the coffee cup like a secret for the next customer to find.

Jack paused at the door, looking back at the room—the clatter, the light, the quiet kind of humanity that lives in simple places.

Jack: “You know, she was right. Some topics aren’t meant to divide—they’re meant to remind us how easily we do.”

Jeeny: “And how easily we could choose not to.”

Host: They stepped outside. The air was crisp, the city alive again. Cars passed, pigeons argued on telephone wires, and somewhere down the block, a bakery opened its doors.

As they walked into the sunlight, Jeeny glanced sideways and said, her voice light but honest:

Jeeny: “For the record, it’s still ridiculous to put milk before the cereal.”

Jack: “You see? Controversial.”

Jeeny: laughing “Exactly.”

Host: The laughter lingered behind them, rising into the morning air, mingling with the sound of passing cars and possibility.

Because Bombeck was right — we fight hardest over the smallest things, and those fights remind us we’re still human.

It’s not the cereal that’s controversial.
It’s the fragile, funny, forgiving heart behind it —
always trying to stay human
before the day begins.