Going into this, you should first know that, in certain areas, I have a heightened sense of taste. Put a rainbow of Marshmallow Peeps in front of me for a blind taste-test and I'll point you to yellow every time. Under the same set of circumstances, I can pick a blue M & M from the bag over half the time. Don't even TRY to pass off generic sliced yellow cheese. I'd been crazy about Kraft American cheese long before I discovered the delights of non-processed cheese.
The next thing that you should know is that, on occasion, I can be wasteful. I'm sorry about this lapse in my character. I have developed the unfortunate habit of giving up on a box of cereal at the 3/4s empty mark. It might be my short-attention span...boredom...a yearning for something better...fresher. It's inexcusable and I'm ashamed.
My husband, in an attempt to improve our lives economically because heaven knows how many millions of dollars I've wasted squandering cereal, recently deployed his secret plan to bolster our budget while simultaneously improving my chances of eventually getting postponed at the Pearly Gates. On Sunday, I had gleefully grabbed a fresh family-sized box of "Lucky Charms." You can tell when it's at optimum freshness when the marshmallows don't stick together should they inadvertently bump up against each other in the bowl. Like Lot's family exiting Sodom, I refused to look back at that the quarter-filled box of "Honey Smacks" growing staler-by-the-minute in my dry pantry. I had made the rookie cereal-buyer's mistake of confusing "Honey Smacks" (sporting a frog wearing a hat on the box) with the preferable "Golden Crisps" that has a box decorated with a bear in a blue t-shirt. It's an understandable error as both of their cereal pieces are shaped like a pair of elongated human buttocks but the taste is world's apart. Brad apparently had no fear of being turned into a pillar of salt or, in this particular case, a pile of processed sugar, grabbed the almost-empty "Honey Smacks" and poured it heartlessly into my brand new, family-sized box of "Lucky Charms." I know.
Just like you shouldn't cross a frog with a bear, despite their charming sense of fashion, it is equally unacceptable to mix a frog with a leprechaun. It's an abomination. The taste of "Honey Smacks" permeated my "Lucky Charms." I felt a flurry of irrepressible emotions. Initial confusion; like finding an onion ring buried in your order of French fries only not happy. Hope, in that maybe this was just a fluke. I once ate an entire box of Hostess Cupcakes where not a single one of my cream-filled cakes were actually filled with cream. I worked my way through that package, fed only by hope; left to digest on disappointment. Then murderous rage set in. I grew even angrier when I realized that not a single person on the planet would be on my side. Even worse, I knew that some insensitive people would even find this situation mildly amusing. But it's NOT funny. What am I going to do? An entire box of "Lucky Charms"...wasted. Nothing magical about that.
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