If you like cookies (yes), you'll like Cookie Crisp (no)!
When I was a kid, a cereal called Cookie Crisp came on the scene. Tiny little chocolate chip cookies in a box depicting a crooklike character and an old-time policeman. The commercials centered on how the Cookie Crook would try to steal the cereal, and Officer Krum would always save the day, for the children. And there would be close ups of this wonderful cereal, floating in a sea of milk.
Wow, all the little children said, cookies for breakfast!
And a cheer went up throughout the land.
Then began the machinations to bring the coveted boxes to the breakfast table.
"Mommy," one little girl said, as her mother made out her grocery list, "can we get Cookie Crisp?"
Her younger brother nodded, up and down, up and down, up and down.
"No, honey," her mother said, a little frazzled, "we're a little tight with money this week. Cheerios are on sale; that's what you're getting."
The little girl did the only thing she knew how: she pouted.
And pouted some more, particularly when her mother didn't notice her.
Then an idea came to her: ask Grandma!
And her grandmother, ever benevolent, took her granddaughter grocery shopping and entreated her to pick out "that cereal you keep talking about."
So she did, hugging the box to her chest like some great treasure as she skipped through Pathmark, only relinquishing the box to be scanned at the register.
When they got home, her grandmother set out a bowl and the milk for the little girl, and she happily poured some cereal out, listening to the clinking sounds it made as it bounced off the porcelain of the bowl and came to rest at the bottom. She slathered the little bits with milk and slid in a spoon, smiling that they still looked crunchy.
The little girl put the spoon in her mouth and closed her eyes. She opened them and looked at the box again. She tried another spoonful, still chewing thoughtfully.
"How is it?" her grandma asked.
"It doesn't taste like cookies," she replied, her face falling in disappointment.
At this point in her life, she couldn't accurately describe WHAT, exactly, Cookie Crisp tasted like, but it wasn't cookies!
At school, the little girl was the only child she knew who hated the taste of Cookie Crisp. They were believing the lie! They were brainwshed somehow!
She never tried Cookie Crisp again, and to this day, everytime she hears of the infamous cereal or sees the stupid Cookie Crisp dog yelling out the name with extended vowels, she has a fierce glaring hatred of Ralston-Purina-now-General Mills for duping young children.
Wow, all the little children said, cookies for breakfast!
And a cheer went up throughout the land.
Then began the machinations to bring the coveted boxes to the breakfast table.
"Mommy," one little girl said, as her mother made out her grocery list, "can we get Cookie Crisp?"
Her younger brother nodded, up and down, up and down, up and down.
"No, honey," her mother said, a little frazzled, "we're a little tight with money this week. Cheerios are on sale; that's what you're getting."
The little girl did the only thing she knew how: she pouted.
And pouted some more, particularly when her mother didn't notice her.
Then an idea came to her: ask Grandma!
And her grandmother, ever benevolent, took her granddaughter grocery shopping and entreated her to pick out "that cereal you keep talking about."
So she did, hugging the box to her chest like some great treasure as she skipped through Pathmark, only relinquishing the box to be scanned at the register.
When they got home, her grandmother set out a bowl and the milk for the little girl, and she happily poured some cereal out, listening to the clinking sounds it made as it bounced off the porcelain of the bowl and came to rest at the bottom. She slathered the little bits with milk and slid in a spoon, smiling that they still looked crunchy.
The little girl put the spoon in her mouth and closed her eyes. She opened them and looked at the box again. She tried another spoonful, still chewing thoughtfully.
"How is it?" her grandma asked.
"It doesn't taste like cookies," she replied, her face falling in disappointment.
At this point in her life, she couldn't accurately describe WHAT, exactly, Cookie Crisp tasted like, but it wasn't cookies!
At school, the little girl was the only child she knew who hated the taste of Cookie Crisp. They were believing the lie! They were brainwshed somehow!
She never tried Cookie Crisp again, and to this day, everytime she hears of the infamous cereal or sees the stupid Cookie Crisp dog yelling out the name with extended vowels, she has a fierce glaring hatred of Ralston-Purina-now-General Mills for duping young children.