The rain drops hit me, so rhythmically, like sticks on a drum set with thirty arms. I struggled to keep my pale yellow canoe from capsizing as the rapids shook the orientation out of me while I ricocheted off countless fleshy protrusions from the water. They were the fingers of giants, cradling ivory liquid and grainy, beige leaf-like objects floating around me. The smell of cinnamon sugar infected the air. The sizzle of grease from afar hissed and taunted me.

My vessel was a hollow peel of a slightly browning banana. My oar was a long red plastic beam–a life size version of what you would use to spread cheese on crackers from a school lunch box.

The storm thickened. The wind became more turbulent.

As I finally, managed to gain my stability, I looked up and felt the gentle breeze as a shadow overtook my vicinity. There I saw it!

The glaring reflection on the concave, metal bottom of a spoon that was more like a giant shovel at this perspective. I paddled and shuffled the milky substance behind myself, frantic and panting in this panic. Surely, I will soon be eaten.

Then, as I thought it couldn’t get worse, came the ants. Although, at my size, they were the size of wildebeests. The liquid danced around their appendages as they scuttled through the now shallow bowl of milk. As they dominated the horizon, I thought I might be able to comandeer one of them and steer myself to safety.

I grabbed my oar and some fibrous strands from my banana peel canoe and slushed my way toward the brood. My face soaked and sticky from the sugary substance. I lassoed one of them and straddled on one of their backs. I held on for my life depended on it.

I was halfway across the bowl. It was like a collesseum to me. Then, I felt the seismic floor shift! The bowl and it’s contents, I could hear being dragged across the wooden table. The sound of glass and wood friction was unmistakable. We were all lifted toward the fleshy cave of the giant’s mouth. I could smell the pungent odor of its halitosis. That stale milk smell. Ugh…

I hear the blaring sound. The ringing. The drone of gradual realization. The bane of a new day! But my dismay was somehow conflicted with hope as I could almost picture the bright red numbers and the big button with the word: ‘Snooze’ almost worn off’.

“Hey,” I hear a familiar voice echoing from the corridors of the dwelling, “Good Morning. Do you want bacon and eggs or cereal this morning!?”