Three of the four members of my household don’t drink milk. Which means about ten years ago I should have invested heavily in soy farming. Since I didn’t, we pay a premium for the vanilla-flavored gold. I’m positive a portion of our income goes to finance black-market edamame patches in Indonesia.
But we do eat yogurt, and not just any yogurt. Every week I clip coupons, so we can pay for the pricey stuff. With flavors like Apple Turnover, Key Lime Pie, and White Chocolate Raspberry, it’s our not-so-secret indulgence. I started out buying half a dozen, but that was never enough. Arguments ensued.
“You took the last Banana Creme Pie.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“That junk tastes like Laughy-Taffy.”
“Better than pink snowflake or whatever you call it.”
“Strawberry Cheesecake or Very Cherry.”
“Whatever. You ate the Banana Cream Pie.”
“I already told you. I don’t like Banana.”
“Then who ate it?”
“Bacon?”
“He likes Blueberry Patch.”
“No, he likes . . . ”
“Everything.”
Now, the cart is full. Entire grocery bags of individual containers enter our house weekly. I can’t buy a case because they only come in generic strawberry and peach. Most households have a refrigerator shelf dedicated to soft drinks or beer. The middle shelf of our Kenmore is home to dozens of cone-shaped plastic containers with foil lids. We can’t get enough of the stuff.
CRISPLY SPOKEN 