Just say no ... I mean, yes
Wednesday, January 4, 2012 at 01:44PM 
At my house I get credit -- undeserved, in my opinion -- for being the Food Police.
TG calls me that. Lovingly and kiddingly. I think.
It's just that, in addition to my endless fascination with food, I am inordinately interested in what is being consumed by those in my presence.
And naturally, because I do believe the world requires the benefit of my every viewpoint, I will often ask the person what they're eating.
I might even want to know why they got so much of it, or why they're snacking again when they just had something forty-one minutes ago.
Officer Jenny reporting for duty.
Ordinarily I reserve my dietary interrogations for TG, because I exist to torment him and he wouldn't know how to behave without my input.
But a few months ago we colluded most beautifully, if I do say so, on a certain nutrition-related situation.
It all started when we were visiting our daughter, Stephanie, who is expecting a baby.
I was loading the dishwasher when I noticed a snack-sized bag of Flamas Doritos on her kitchen counter, opened but with the top primly folded over, the whole thing set to the side.
You notice I said a SNACK-SIZED -- like, two ounces -- bag of said glorious food group, the beloved Dorito. Who in their right mind even buys a snack size of such manna, not to mention eats part of it, then saves the rest?
The one-word answer: Stephanie.
Our eldest daughter has character in the realm of diet that can only be explained by the mystery of the recessive gene.
Because trust me: she didn't get the habit of eating two Doritos, then stopping, from either me or her dad.
That's why you'll rarely see Doritos in our pantry. The twelve-step program was helpful but it's, you know, one day at a time.
Think the pivotal scene in The Days of Wine and Roses with Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick jumping on the bed, having drained their forbidden whisky stash.
Except it's TG and me jumping on the bed with empty Dorito bags flying through the air, and he's about to go wreck the greenhouse in an attempt to locate the previously secreted reserves.
Anyway, with no small amount of incredulity I held the partially-eaten bag of Flamas Doritos up to my daughter and asked her to explain herself.
She smirked her smug little I-can-eat-just-one grin and told me she "rewarded" herself with a few of those Flamas Doritos if she made weight on her doctor visits.
????
But -- but -- but ... I stammered. How in the sam hill do you do that?
With a shrug and a chuckle she changed the subject. The kid loves getting one over on me.
At that moment, securing my own (party-size) bag of Flamas Doritos -- I'd never even heard of them up till then; I was still fixated on the Spicy Sweet Chili variety -- became an obsession.
So as soon as we got home, I sent TG to the store. Get some of those Flamas Doritos like Stephanie had, I told him.
Flaming? He said.
FLAMAS, I corrected, then taught him how to pronounce it. (Both a's are short, like in ahhhhh.)
He repeated it a few times and nodded enthusiastically. I noticed an extra spring in his step as he went out the door.
Clearly we are not good for one another.
And yet ... and yet! He returned home Flamas Dorito-less.
They didn't have any, he said.
They didn't have any? I repeated.
I even went and found a worker, TG continued (he always refers to employees as "workers"). And I said: Why don't you guys have any Flaming Doritos?
FLAMAS, I corrected.
FLAMAS. That's what I said, he said.
Well? What did they have to say for themselves? I wanted to know.
TG said the worker simply stood there looking dumb.
Try to picture that. I know it's difficult but just try.
I told them they need to contact their Dorito supplier and get some Flamas on the shelves right away, TG reported. And there was a wee flamas in his eye when he said it.
But we have yet to enjoy a bag of Flamas Doritos. The Spicy Sweet Chili ones have had to do in a pinch and they do pretty well.
Why am I telling you this? Because TG had me cracking up last week over a story Rush Limbaugh told about black market junk food in California schools.
Apparently in the land of fruits and nuts, the brats of flaming liberals have rebelled against healthy food options being offered in the lunchroom.
I mean, I just cannot imagine why school-age kids haven't warmed to the idea of tofu burgers, baked jicama straws, and wheatgrass juice for lunch.
And apparently I'm not alone.
Because a few enterprising kids whose parents are likely off occupying something or other, earnestly crusading for the demise of evil capitalism, have begun taking clever advantage of the free markets.
Early each morning they're loading their backpacks with candy, chips, and soda, then going to school and selling the goods under the table -- at a *gasp* profit -- to students and teachers alike.
Parents, don't worry about your kids doing drugs at school. Worry about them doing Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, M&M's, and Flamin' Cheetos.
It seems the Flamin' Cheetos -- crunchy variety -- have become as popular as crystal meth used to be. The snack-food skulduggery has been going on for years and several times has made the national news.
HAHA!!! In my day we didn't have to hide. I distincly remember a new "cafeteria style" lunchroom being installed in my school, and there were scads of choices. Everything from carrot-raisin salad to pepperoni pizza was available to the discriminating student palate.
A la carte met academia with resounding success.
There were dozens of dessert offerings, for the cut-to-the-chase types among us.
Do you know what I picked, every single day, for lunch? An eclair.
Yes, I ate an eclair every day for lunch, right out in the open, with no shame.
Whisper-soft yeast-rich pastry filled with gooey white cream and covered with a thick blanket of sinful chocolate is, to this very day, my drug of choice.
When it came to controlled substances, we made it a lifetime policy to let our kids do junk food in the privacy of our home, under our supervision.
Per the law of sowing and reaping, it has paid off in a BIG way. Why, only week before last, our kids supplied us with enough candy, chips, soda, and snack crackers to feed Patton's Third Army.
It's better than getting it on the street.
Be careful out there.
Reader Comments (8)
I could use that recessive gene myself!
I love this post!
Your story reminded me of my hubby. He likes diet Code Red Mountain Dew, which we cannot buy around here or some reason. He has friend import it across county and state lines for him and he pays them cash. Same with another soda he likes, can't think of the name right now because I'm not a soda drinker myself.
Having just eaten a small bowl of black-eyed peas and half an Aurora apple for lunch, feeling very virtuous but not able to resist a cup of Stephens' Mint Hot Chocolate as a chaser, I so relate.
Hahahaaaaaa.... Omword! What a Fun Post! Amen to junk food... We'll convert those Liberal's kids with sugar, carbs and chili!! Lolol....
Hughugs
Your daughter is unique, for sure. I'll be looking for those famma doritos round here. I'm a sucker for Doritos! (in a large bag)
OMG Jenny !..goin to grab a bag of kisses now..shame on ya!..lmboooooo HAPPY NEW YEAR hun!!!):-) XXOO
You roped me in, once again, and thoroughly entertained me all the way through. Of course, when it come to FOOD, I will pay rapt attention! I've never heard of the Flamas Doritos. We try to avoid having that stuff even coming into the house or else we are doomed!
Ha! Hilarious post. I think I'll go home and have a plate of kale and something else real healthy so I can be skinny!!! I've been so good all week. I've juiced and eaten more fruits and vegetables than you can imagine. UNreal.