So I run to the store for a few items. The most important being butter. I am down to 2 tablespoons and the Sassy Family simply cannot breakfast without more butter than that.
It's 8:00 p.m., the dish crew (Asher and Elsa) are working on the kitchen. I sneak out. To get butter, orange juice, some fruit, and NOT this:
Since none of you have ever experienced this situation, let me hold your hand. There is no shame. Much.
You run to the store (see above) for a few selected items you've jotted on a post-it note and stuffed into your jeans pocket. And you're powering your way through your familiar store when suddenly, it happens. Some horribly twisted and perverse store merchandising expert decided to put THE ABOVE on an end cap. All "holiday-ish" and "festive-like" to seduce late evening women shoppers with muffin tops and a short list of items to procure.
Knowing DARN well this mamasita is going to snatch a bag and drop it into her tiny "quick trip to the store" cart and look the other way.
Now here's the part that surely you've never done.
You get in the car with your 3 bags of list-items and impulse-buys and you realize you need to tuck into that bag of dark chocolate sea salt kettle corn before it makes its way home and into the eye-range and ear-shot of a bunch of bottomless pits known as your children.
And then you cuss, because you realize it's one of those stupid childproof bags - you know - the kind that no hands or teeth could ever manage to open? Invented because someone, somewhere, broke a filling or a fingernail or burned their THIGHS opening a bag way too easily, so there was a lawsuit and then better bag-laws.
So, being the girl you are, you dig into your animal print handbag and pull our your multi-use Swiss Army Knife. And you enact the scissors and proceed to cut that sucker WIDE open. The devil made me do it.
You sample. And munch. And silently both curse and bless your store, the dude who stocked the shelf, and Angie, who made this crazy-sinful-wicked-good-sweet-and-salty bag of $3.99 fanny-widening product. "About 6 servings" - mmmm hmmmm.
The bags came home. The vittles were shared. Smiles and moans ensued.
There's this much left:
The bag is now folded over and tucked into the cupboard. As is the way with things at the Sassy House, the teen will come home from work at 9, eat the dinner left for him in the fridge, and then scrounge around for a thousand more calories and discover this bag. And finish it off. Teens.
The worst part of the whole story? The moral, the lesson to be told and learned here?
I FORGOT THE STINKIN' BUTTER.
"Oooooooo, shiny thing!"