Mae Clair: My Shameful Addiction

It began at an early age. My parents made several attempts to intervene and steer me onto the straight and narrow. I believe they thought I‘d grow out of it given time. Later, my husband tried to help me break the habit, suggesting I go cold turkey. Instead, I ended up corrupting him and introducing him to the dark side.  You see…I am a chipaholic.

Yes, you heard correctly. Those innocent crisps of potato and salt are my downfall. Before you roll your eyes and reach for an Utz, allow me to put this craving in perspective.  My willpower runs like this:

Chocolate? Eh. I have to be in the mood.
Ice cream? Eh. Maybe some mint chocolate chip a few times a year.
Cakes, cookies, donuts? *yawn* They don’t speak to me.
Soda? Never. I hate the fizzy stuff.
Chips. Oooh, look how pretty and tempting!

That’s not to say I don’t have standards. I’m not much for flavors like sour cream and onion, cheddar, salt and vinegar, Cajun, dill pickle (seriously?) and pizza. Give me plain, or the occasional barbeque. Old-fashioned, kettle brands, and russets are great too, as are those fancy gourmet colored ones you buy in the organic aisle (as if that’s going to make them healthy. Yeah, right).

But I digress. Any chipaholic worth their salt will tell you there is a proper method to christening a fresh bag of chips. The following steps must be followed precisely:

  1. Grip bag to release auditory crinkle of foil (this builds anticipation)
  2. Tug bag apart/open (do not tear)
  3. Inhale/savor the bouquet
  4. Eat one chip, and one chip only, to absorb flavor. This must be done to appreciate the vintage of the batch, the same way you would sample wine after allowing it to breathe. Not all chips are created equal.
  5. If spouse is present, share chip with him.
  6. Pretend snobbery and control
  7. Devour bag, then tell yourself it’s the last time

Pitiful, yes, I know. Since my will power is notorious for gleefully hopping the Middleswarth or Martin’s Kettle Cooked train, we don’t often buy chips in my house. Occasionally, however, my husband will want a bag and I don’t feel it’s fair to deprive him.  The solution? After much discussion (and hysterical sobbing on my part about unwanted weight gain….okay, kidding, but you get the idea), we determined he would buy only ripple chips. Why is this a big deal? Because, I hate ripples. They’re thick and ridgy and don’t taste anything remotely like a chip should.

Genius, right? I was happy. He was happy. We threw confetti. Then he brought the innocuous ripples home.

Guess what?

When there is no other chip in the house, the siren call of a ripple is enough to awaken the slumbering beast of a chipaholic. It wasn’t long before it dragged me into the kitchen whispering I should taste ‘just one’ to remind myself how wretched they were. After all, I’m a chip snob. A ripple had no power over me. Or so I thought. *hangs head in shame* 

The end result?  We don’t buy ripples anymore. If I’m going to cave, I want it to be for the real McCoy. So I’m back to banishing chips from the house and eating carrot sticks. Er, most of the time anyway. After all, what good is a guilty pleasure if you can’t wallow around it in once in a while?

So, how does all of this relate to writing? Simple. I’m addicted to that too, and that’s something I won’t banish from the house. Ever!

Now that I’ve fessed up to my woefully embarrassing addiction, what’s yours? Do share! 😀