Thank you for showing up for every meal. Even breakfast. I was surprised to see you there, but the porridge you come in is white enough that I can pretend that you’re the milk in my cereal, and that the little beans are baby cheerios---maybe-- if I close my eyes and swallow fast. I’ve never put little fried potatoes on you. But everyone cheers when we see those potatoes and not the slippery, brown tofu. We love when the cookie sheets of rice that come out are fried rice—the kind behind the glass at Panda Express. And when we can recognize the vegetables on the table for mixing into you. At least sometimes you’re sticky and slide onto the long sticks I’m supposed to eat you with. And at least you’re predictable, if nothing else on the tray is. I’m glad I’ll see you for the next 3.5 months. That will probably be the last time that I will ever see you again.