If Rice Krispies Were a Woman...

If Rice Krispies were a woman, she would be the woman who was your best friend but secretly loved you. The woman with whom you have coffee together but never date. The woman with whom you see movies with but never hold hands. But in the end, the woman who secretly loved you since they day you met.

You'd see her at least twice a week, in one-on-one settings, but you never made a move because you never thought of her that way. The Snap Crackle Pop of your conversations were cacophonic and hilarious. Like Rice Krispies, your relationship was simple and constant. No drama of dating or jealousy, no unnecessary colors or marshmallows—just casual consumption of a good friend.

For her, you were more than a crush. That she wanted to hold your hand and kiss your cheek and be your monogamous cereal. But you couldn't commit. The milk of truth soggied your once gregarious friendship and bowl of cereal. For no cereal goes as soggy as fast as Rice Krispies. Left long enough, like the awkwardness of her unrequited love, the Rice Krispies turned into a soft, tepid pool of slosh.

You didn't want to look like a jerk, so you continued to hang out with her, but no more one-on-one meals. You invited friends to act as buffers, and you used marshmallows to create Rice Krispie Treats because intimate bowls of cereal were too uncomfortable.

No one is blaming you—choosing a cereal and choosing a girlfriend are personal preferences. They don't blame you either; they understand. When you have the unexpected "bump-into-each-other" in the cereal aisle, you smile politely and maybe share a laugh, but your friendship is effectively dead. You both know the truth: friendship and Rice Krispies spoil under the weight of uneven love and low-fat milk.