If you’re a sane individual, as I reckon you are, this is probably going to sound way loopy.
Two nights ago while falling asleep I found myself getting a bit choked up. It wasn’t about my children finally figuring out that I’m nothing special or my wife realizing her marital error. Those fears were kept at bay, squashed by the thought of my favorite cookie being discontinued. That’s the wrong word. It’s more like remade with a taste that is blander than a dusty rice cake and a texture reminiscent of a high school sophomore’s woodshop project. This fear came true within the past month. Clearly I have yet to move on.
I’m a big guy and I struggle with eating properly, making wise food choices, and the like. In Newman’s Own Organic Chocolate Alphabet Cookies I found a treat that is not going to kill me (likely) and one that I can eat in moderation, staying true to the serving size of 10 cookies for 120 calories and just 3 grams of fat and 9 grams of sugar. 10 square M’s, T’s, and J’s satisfy me. I need none more. With 16 ounces of skim milk; the perfect snack.
Now they are gone from my life. Replaced with a prettier new bag 3 ounces lighter and less inciting flavor. I’m a cookie widower.
The full-bodied beauty
Bitch
Until yesterday. I was in a new-to-me grocery store looking for a single bottle of Santa Cruz lemonade for the Mrs. when I saw them. The old bag. My gorgeous chocolate alphabet. This particular store must not have sold through their supply. They haven’t yet been forced to trade in the classic beauty for the skinnier hot young thing. I bought all 7 bags.
I know this affair won’t last. I know she’ll leave me again but before she does I’ll spell out Jeff Loves U, pour myself a tall glass of ice-cold milk, and commit this thing we had to memory.
Amazon still shows the old bag, but I don’t believe it.
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