Chip One: I expect a blast of fetid, artificial syrupy-ness to hit me in the face as I open the bag. This is not the case. It smells like a bag of potato chips…and then there’s the slightest hint of maple. Like the base note of a gourmand fragrance. Or something. The first chip is not bad. It actually tastes like chicken and waffles. There’s barely a potato to be had.
Chip Two: This one I give to my husband. He has a similar reaction, except maybe without the comparison to perfume.
Chip Three: I want these chips to win! I check the bag to see if I can vote for them on Facebook. I honestly don’t want to live in a world without Chicken & Waffles potato chips. I can’t believe I am thinking like this.
Chip Four: I’m starting to wonder just what I’m eating. I mean, I’m not hyper-vigilant about my food, obviously, since I have willingly purchased these chips and am eating them as my husband and I walk across the parking lot and get back in the car. But I have to wonder what they’re doing to make these chips taste like chicken and waffles. I read the ingredients aloud. There’s nothing I don’t recognize. But my husband points out that “chicken flavoring” is pretty fucking suspicious-sounding. I am forced to agree.
Chip Five: I was really looking forward to the film version of Les Misérables. I didn’t want to see it right when it came out, because I didn’t want to deal with crowds and lines, so I waited a bit, knowing that it would be just a little more special for my having waited. And then a bit of a ways into it, I started checking my watch (well, my iPhone that I use as a watch) to see how much longer I was going to have to sit there. I guess what I’m saying is that this is how I am now feeling about this bag of chips.
Chip Six: It’s not entirely accurate to refer to this as the sixth chip. What I am facing here are a bunch of umber-dusted chip fragments, which I am forcing myself to eat while thinking that once upon a time, in my twenties (which was about twenty years ago), when I was smoking prodigious amounts of totally non-habit-forming marijuana, these would have been UTTERLY AMAZING. Now I can feel my forty-something body, with its increasingly sensitive digestive system, setting itself up for revolt. Do we still have Pepto in the bathroom cabinet? Think, girl…THINK.
Chip Seven: I hand the rest of the bag to my husband and await lower intestinal oblivion.