Andrea Sanborn

I would like to lodge a complaint against the beeky bar company.

Our oldest child christened them “beeky” bars when “granola” bars proved a challenge to her small tongue. We’ve called them that ever since.

For 30 years now, Ben has eaten the same granola bars. He refuses to try any others. For 30 years, they have been his breakfast.

Ben has Down Syndrome and Autism. His level of understanding is that of a toddler. His level of perseveration is a wonder to behold. And he likes his beeky bars.

But now, the beeky bar company has made the foolish decision to change the look of both the wrappers and the boxes.

We already weathered the great bar-shrinking debacle a while back. It wasn’t easy, but we survived.

But now, Ben is steadfastly refusing to eat them, the very same bars, because they come wrapped in a different color.

We are at an impasse. I may be forced to scramble eggs for him every morning now instead of enjoying my coffee on the couch while he helps himself to his beeky bars.

Thirty years must make us one of their most loyal customers. And now our streak is gone, thanks to the overly enthusiastic efforts of some marketing guru somewhere.

So I would like to file a complaint with the beeky bar company. I hope they will respond with a lifetime supply of their granola bars in the old boxes and wrappers.

And while I’m at it, I should also complain to the shampoo company, the milk company, and the yogurt company.

Thanks a lot.

If you need me, I’ll be at the stove, cooking scrambled eggs every morning for the next 30 years.

At least, until the chickens decide to hire their own marketing guru.