Andy only ate food made with pretty colors and themes. His mother knew this and gave him what he wanted. After all, she'd tell people at the market, it's the disease that's talking. Not Andy.
The morning of his father's art exhibition, Andy threw a bowl of Cheerios against the dining room wall. The O's stuck to the wall like buttons and then slid down into the carpet. Andy said it didn't matter that the Cheerios looked like lifesavers. They were all going to die once he ate them.
His mother had bought a starfruit for days like these. She knew the taste wouldn't matter, but it was the shape that Andy would adore. She quickly made up of blueberry oatmeal, garnishing the top in perfect yellow stars. She felt pleased with herself, naming the bowl, "Starry Night." Your father's not the only artist here, she thought.
Andy took a look at the bowl and smiled but only slightly. He picked up a star and examined it, licking one side. When he saw the stars' dark underbelly, his smile disappeared.
"It's morning," he said. "The stars aren't out yet."
He turned the bowl over, the oats sliding out the edges and onto the oak table.
Starry Night Oatmeal originally eaten and posted here.