A look at the world through  my eyes. Well, just part of the world.

I’ve always been a creature of habit, particularly when it comes to what I eat.

That’s probably why I’m one of few people who still buy Pop-Tarts on the regular. They’re the perfect on-the-go snack for every occasion.

At any given moment, you can be sure one of these mildly crushed pastries will be hiding out in my backpack somewhere, waiting for me to whip it out during class.

This was the exact chain of events that occurred during my biological anthropology lecture this week, but I hardly expected what happened after. I sat there eating my S’mores-flavored Pop-Tart, listening to my professor talk enthusiastically about monkeys, when I heard a voice next to me say something.

“Nice,” it said, just loud enough for me to hear.

I looked to my left and saw a complete stranger eating the same exact Pop-Tart I held in my hand. My jaw dropped.

Was it destiny? Was he my long-lost brother? Was he a stalker who investigated my eating habits and took the seat next to me so he could engage in a conversation about Pop-Tarts that would lead to us becoming best friends and put him in position to steal my life?

I struggled to find the appropriate reaction to his gesture and settled for one I would regret soon after. I made a motion as if to tap my Pop-Tart to his and said, “Cheers.” In hindsight, that was probably a bit invasive, considering this was our first encounter.

I felt a considerable amount of respect for this stranger, especially since I’m constantly criticized for my choice of the arguably bland S’mores flavor. It may be simple, but it reflects an inner ability to feel content without getting preoccupied with material extravagance.

Maybe our choice of Pop-Tarts was an indication that this stranger and I had that quality in common. I shudder to think what would have happened if we both chose the low-fat strawberry flavor. The sprinkles practically spell out “I wear women’s panties” if you look closely.

I continued to contemplate our possible commonalities until the class ended and my Pop-Tart blood brother got up and walked out the door. I gathered my belongings and prepared to do the same, but a friend of mine stopped me and pointed to the seat where the stranger had been sitting.

He had left bits and pieces of his half-eaten Pop-Tart sitting on the desk, next to a half-finished can of Coke.

“That’s so inconsiderate,” my friend said.

I crumpled my trash in my hand as I turned my back on the evidence of his betrayal.