Wednesday, August 8, 2012

'Whales' from the dad side

I love my family. I love to write. I love to learn. But deep inside, I have a deep affection.

Some might call it an addiction while others might say it's a mere infatuation.

It rules my thoughts - typically late into the evening - and controls my actions in Walmart.

I get frustrated, irritated, and downright infuriated when they're sold out.

If I get home and there are none in the cabinet, well, let's just say you don't want to see that happen.

I'm talking about Whales. No, not Goldfish; not some other knockoff brand that may be out there.  Dads: you know what I mean...don't act like you don't!

Those salty crunchy bits of goodness that have a rich cheddar flavor, 0 grams of trans fat, and no artificial flavors or colors. Just good 'ol friendly yummy in every bite.

Why do I love them? Is it because they smile at me? Is it because they smell so delectable when I pop open the bag? Is it because I have it my mind that I almost detect a hint of bacon with every bite?

Whales are so good it is as if they should be outlawed. The manufacturing of Whales is tantamount to a crime. I am hooked. Does Stauffer's care? Of course not, and God love them for that.

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