I have a daughter. She is three and three-quarters years old. She is a diva. Strong-willed. Spoiled. Adorable. Bratty. Darling. A Control Freak. Innocent. Devilish. Angelic. Beastly.
You probably know a kid like this.
She loves Cheetos. She is like a moth to a flame with Cheetos. Every time we eat at Subway (here I duck down to avoid the scowls of my readers who cannot bear to learn that I darken the door of such an establishment, much less feed her food that Satan feeds his spawn), she runs to the chip display and performs a jack-in-the-box like spastic thrown-down. CHEETOS!! CHEETOS! CHEETOS!!
Since, we do not buy this kind of food at home, I let her eat Cheetos at Subway as a treat.
However, last week, I made the mistake of taking all three of my luverlies to the Harris Teeter to pick up a few items. Normally, I know better than to take three snacky shorties shopping, but apparently, I was feeling extremely stupid. Thus I found myself on the “pretzel aisle” being accosted by my three tinies with ginormous brown eyes and pleading voices.
They promised that if I bought them Cheetos, they’d stop pulling the shopping cart back and forth like a jerky roller coaster. Additionally, they would be good for the rest of their lives, AND they would love me forever.
Well, as I stated, I was feeling extremely stupid, so like an idiot, I bought the Cheetos.
Okay, you have been tricked. To finish reading AND to find out how I spin this post to spiritual matters, you’ll have to click HERE, where I give my full confession in the safe confines at AmyJBennett.com, my friend Amy’s blog. She promised that people would be nice to me over there since I am new to the whole “not caring thing.” While you are there, look around at her posts, which are brilliant–especially the gorgeous fashion ideas, and thank her for being such a tremendous encouragement to me to KEEP BLOGGING. Even though I’m mad at her half of the time for writing the EXACT posts that I wanted to write, I still think she’s awesome.