Bran: (n) pieces of grain husk separated from flour after milling
I’m sorry to admit that I’ve reached an age when, for some reason or another, I feel comfortable to discuss my bowel movements in public.
There has to be some intimacy that’s been exchanged between us in order for me to uncork information on my flow.
I used to go to the toilet without reservation or comment. Often it happened too quickly or too frequently, but I always felt like I was just a “regular guy.”
Then suddenly the large and small intestine became territorial–perhaps because for many years they had been in competition with each other over size.
So the food I now place in my mouth has become like a reluctant old man who has found his favorite park bench and believes there are squirrels yet unfed.
It has become necessary for me to introduce bran–usually in the form of cereal–for my breakfast, without allowing it to look like I have done so because I have been overtaken by a cloud of decrepit.
Especially when I get around my children or younger humans, I will lamely attempt to offer the possibility that the cereal is to my liking and I would choose it over Lucky Charms any day.
Yet I can see it in their eyes–a mingling of mischief and pity which lets me know that they are aware that this consumption of bran products is necessary to unclog my dam.
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