Not In My House, You Won’t

So my oldest child has learned to read, which means he was able to see this on the back of the potato chip bag and comprehend it:

Lays potato chips and chocolate: Not a perfect evening, but spell components to open a portal to Hell

Melted chocolate chips on potato chips? Are they barking mad?

However, my eight-year-old thinks this is a good idea. Even though, or particularly because, I recoiled at the thought. Kind of like he’s determined he’s a fan of Led Zepplin because I change the radio station when a Led Zepplin song comes on. Do you understand how much I hate them? So much that I refuse to misspell their name the same way they do.

So I’m at a loss. He does not prepare his own snacks yet, and you can be sure I won’t create this abomination for him no matter how much he cries or begs. (Look how feeding the children after midnight turned out!)

If I prohibit this behavior in my house too strenuously, he’ll be wasting chocolate chips and potato chips whenever he can just to rebel against authority. If I do not prohibit it at all, he might commingle the two. And he might like it. And do it again and again.

The best I can hope for is that he will forget this travesty before we trust him with the microwave, and Lays will stop printing this perverse propaganda on its bags between now and then.

I know it might look like I’m overreacting, but look: It’s potato chips. With chocolate melted onto them. It’s unholy. We’re not talking about dipping chips in Mountain Dew, which is perfectly natural and healthy. FOR PETE’S SAKE PEOPLE, WAKE UP!

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