This past Sunday, my sweet Drummer Boy went grocery shopping with me. It was a big deal, because this past Sunday I was feeling quite low, and I didn't want him to see me that way, and also I didn't want to go shopping, even though I really needed to buy breakfast and lunch foods for Precocious Daughter.
He very sweetly, and gently, and kindly convinced me to let him visit, and help me shop. I don't know how he does this, and more importantly, I don't know why he does this. Drummer Boy is so out of my league, you guys.
Anyway, we had fun shopping together, because we always do. And at one point, he added a box of Spicy Buffalo Wheat Thins to my cart.
|I like Wheat Thins. I like buffalo (the animal|
and the spice). Win.
At one point, Drummer Boy found a mutant Thin.
|See the difference?|
Drummer Boy nommed the excessively-seasoned cracker and declared it good.
Then he found more.
|Hunka hunka salty buffalo powder.|
But it was fun. You know, like finding a triple-stuf Oreo or an extra hot wing in your order. Bonus junk food for the win!
Then today, I retrieved the box of Wheat Thins from my pantry (because somehow we managed to not devour the entire box on Sunday), and I pulled out this:
|What is happening?|
I don't know what to do with this monster. The part of me that likes to get drunk and harass random Twitter users wants to put this bad boy in my mouth and endure the mouth-burning, eye-watering consequences.
But the part of me that cries over pictures of orphaned otters can't imagine subjecting myself to such unhealthy torture.
|As if you can even deal with this.|
Do I eat this disgusting, wonderful prize?
Or do I throw it in the trash and thank my Maker that I was able to resist poisoning my body with such an abomination?
Please weigh in. In the meantime, the Buffalo Nugget will remain in my pantry, awaiting its fate.
By the way, I'll send it to you if you decide your fate is to consume an ounce of salt and artificial flavor.