Thoughts on Food

Sooo.

Dad always buys the Root Beer that comes in bottles. This is a good thing because the only time Sar will give me a coolness factor of more than zero is when I’m drinking out of one of those. The rest of the time I’m pretty sure I’m in at least the low negatives.

I was having one this evening and, being temporarily done, I attempted to replace the cap. *foomp!* It jumped back off. It does that sometimes. I tried again. *foomp!* Huh. Again. *foomp!* Well. I put it on extra-tight. *Foomp!!!* Fortunately I found it amusing. But I wanted to get on with my life, and I wanted my root beer to still be fizzy when I returned eons hence, so I tried once more--with EXTRA force.

...It stayed. I found this somehow disappointing.

But not for long. After various and sundry travels and travails of sunderedly varied kinds, I ended up in the kitchen, eating one of those miniature oranges. It was goood. This is a good thing as well, because we’ve had bad experiences with oranges recently. The orange fairy messed up or something and forgot to add the flavor to three shipments in a row, and they were mushy to boot. These were still a little on the mushy side, but they had FLAVOR. That led me to forgive everything, and as I was coaxing two more to come with me for later, Dad came in. “Those are good,” he said.
I agreed.
Dad: “The ones in King Soopers looked awful.”
Me: “Yeah; I was scared of the last ones.”

Now it seems, I have no need for anxiety. Forthwith, I shall fear the oranges no longer.

(I really hope no one’s ever said that before. If they had, I’d have to question their sanity.)