the corn family chips

I hopped down from the rug and bumped my way up the rungs of a low stool to reach the coffee table. Right in the center sat a white ceramic bowl filled with golden, toasted flakes. Are these crunchy flakes my distant cousins who took sunbathing too seriously, or did someone invent flat, crispy corn? I nudged the rim of the bowl with my lower husk flap, making the flakes shift with a tiny dry rustle. Leaning in until my forehead string hair almost dipped inside, I asked if they wanted to chat, but they only answered with the warm scent of toasted grain.