I banned DH from purchasing Pop T*rts. This is what happens. Someone is at the grocery hungry, a huge no-no, everyone knows. Pop T*rts always seem like a good idea. They’re sweet, full of carbs, easy to prepare, (no one in my family toasts them) and quick. Then the kids see the box of Pop T*rts in the cereal cupboard, and get all excited. The wrappers are easy to open; they tear soundlessly out of their foil-like paper.
Then I find the detritus of half-eaten ‘toaster pastries’ on the kitchen table. Do I leave it so that a hungry little person can finish it later? Are they going to finish it later? I’m uncertain. If I toss it, another package of two will be opened. If I leave it, another package of two will be opened, because the person won’t remember if the half-eaten one on the table is theirs.
I go into the living room. Will you look at that? There is the forensic evidence of a violently dismembered Pop T*rt all over the floor. The insides of the Pop T*rt stick to the carpet. I think I’m going to be sick.
Cursing, I pick up the flotsam and tartsum from off the floor and throw it away. I find the wrappers strewn under the couch and the rocking chair. I find some Pop T*rt goo on the cushions. Disgusted, I start ranting to no one in particular. “Pop T*rts are from the Devil! No one is allowed to bring this stuff into the house again!”
I make a decision. All unattended Pop T*rts will be consigned to the trash without argument. My righteous anger is unassailable. I dare kids to complain. And yet I hear nothing. No one cries about their missing Pop T*rt. No one exclaims that they weren’t finished yet. As it turns out, no one misses that food. As it turns out, they don’t really like Pop T*rts enough to finish their first one, let alone start the second one.
In a state of piqued hunger, I found one that someone, probably DH because he is thrifty like that, had put in a zip-top baggie. What the heck, I thought. I took it out and took a big bite. It was dry on the outside, and gooey and sweet on the inside. One bite was enough. They’re not really that good. I tossed it without guilt. I think this is proof that the easy way is not the best way. That is why I think Pop T*rts are from the Devil.