The Great Cereal Rebellion

Agnes, whose personal mantra was "Gravity is a suggestion, not a law," decided this morning was the day she'd conquer the simple act of making toast. It started innocently enough. As she inserted the bread, her elbow (which seemed to operate on its own mischievous agenda) connected sharply with the counter. The bread, instead of gracefully descending, ricocheted off the side, performing an aerial pirouette before landing butter-side down on the linoleum. "Butter-side down," Agnes muttered, as if the universe had a vendetta specifically against her breakfast.

Undeterred, she retrieved the bread, gave it a perfunctory wipe, and tried again. This time, as the toast popped up with an aggressive *CLUNK*, she flinched. The sudden movement sent a cascade of tea towels from the nearby hook, which, in turn, startled her cat, Mittens. Mittens, a creature of refined terror, launched herself directly into Agnes's legs. Agnes, now unbalanced and entangled in feline fury, executed an unintentional pirouette, narrowly avoiding a collision with the refrigerator.

The final act of the morning's culinary ballet involved Agnes attempting to pour milk into her cereal. The milk carton, sensing weakness, slipped from her grasp. A white, lactose tidal wave erupted, swamping the counter, creating a moat around the cereal box, and finally, cascading over the edge onto her freshly cleaned kitchen floor. Mittens, now safely perched atop the highest kitchen cabinet, watched the milky deluge with the smug satisfaction of a cat whose human was clearly outmatched by basic household items. Agnes, standing amidst the milky wreckage, simply sighed, picked up a spoon, and began scooping cereal directly from the box, deciding that maybe, just maybe, gravity *was* a law after all.