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Meet Cute #17: Weetabix and Milk —

Weetabix felt so impossibly dry, a crackling sensation in her whole-grain wheat threads. She was sitting, alone, in a bowl on a kitchen counter in a Midwestern home.

It was a winter morning, the thirsty air sucking up all moisture.

She longed for the moderate humidity of the Weetabix box, where her former companions remained.

Weetabix had been extracted from that haven only minutes before by a man. The man wore a long blue robe and had a beard. He had unceremoniously plunked her in a shallow bowl, bits of her edges crumbling off.


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