Last year, I conceded and allowed the box into the house on a somewhat regular basis. Dance night dinners required me to do so. Over time my disdain for the box and it's preservatives has waned. So much, in fact, that a couple of weekends ago as I was standing in front of the pantry door deciding what to make for lunch I saw the box and thought, "Oh, this will be good today." For lunch? Yes. For lunch. So that's what I made.
Today, there I was again standing in front of the pantry trying to decide what to make for lunch. The box jumped into my vision, waving his white Helper glove at me. I actually thought that it sounded good.
Wha?
I know. I looked around the room expecting winged pigs to be grinning down at me.
I actually kind of like one variety of the box. Only the stroganoff one.
What will I bring myself to eat next?
Heather was not happy to hear about my lunch choice for us. She has apparently inherited my *snobby* taste buds.
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