Today the Customer Service team whipped up and served green eggs and ham (and green pancakes) for the whole company in honor of Irish day.

It reminded me of the time, age 5ish, I asked my Mom if she’d make me pink Raisin Bran for breakfast. I didn’t really know what I meant, but it sounded wacky and I wanted to see what she’d say. The crazy broad said sure.

I sat there wondering what in the hell I had gotten myself into and what in the hell was coming my way. If only Murky and Lurky would choose this moment to kidnap me in their side car!

After a few scuffled minutes in the kitchen, Mom presented me with my bowl of pink Raisin Bran. Of course the RB itself wasn’t pink, but the milk sure was. Bright, swirly, bloody pink.

I gagged. I coughed. I trembled. But I’d ordered it! I had to prove my wackiness! I tried. I failed. Bowl was whisked away, relief washed over me, Cheerios in pearly white milk were devoured.

But I’ve come a long ways, friends; I ate those greenies with abandon. Don't take it personally, Mom?