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.