(Don't cry for me, dear reader, don't cry.)
I'll tell you something about this Special K challenge: it's embarrassing. You see, I like to think that I'm to a certain degree renowned (in a small, modest fashion) for my opulent tastes. In a former job, for instance, a colleague walked in whilst I was preparing my lunch and remarked, 'What's that? A cheese platter? You are so Oxford ...'
I don't think that's going to be the verdict of anyone who happens to walk in on me eating my lunchtime bowl of Special friggin' K. 'Classic' or not.
(Information for free: it's not actually all that special, in the eyes of the masses.)
Ah well. Such are the sacrifices we must make for slimness.