A Letter to Cheetos

Dear Cheetos,

I ate you today. And you know what? I'm not that happy about it. In fact, I think we're in a fight. You can't keep lurking around my cabinet when I'm working from home, desperately trying to meet my end of month deadline, easily distracted by food. It's a typical move. I'm overwhelmed and stressed. I don't turn to exercise, sleep, or hard drugs that make you lose weight. I turn to you Cheetos and your other fatty, often processed friends. How convenient it is that I came home from an evening out last week and someone had purchased you and put you in my cabinet? Every time I open it for the salt or my morning granola, there you are staring me in the face, reminding me of your cheesy existence. Even against your friendlier mates such as apples, bananas and the ever-marginal wheat pretzels, you win out. It's gotta be that Chester's doing.

Do you think I really give a shit that you are "made with real cheese?" Please, please define "real cheese" for me because I have never seen hot orange powdered cheese on anything else. Oh wait! Except on Kraft mac-n-cheese. You guys must be cousins or something. Man, I could go for a big ol' bowl of that right now too. A bowl of faux mac-n-cheese with a side of Crunchy Cheetos. You know,  I like the puffs too so if that was all I had, I'd go puffs. Both versions are good. In fact, the puffs are even called "souffles" in French. Or at least on bags of Canadian Cheetos that's what it says instead of "puffs." Oh yes, I have eaten you internationally and liked it so very much. So for now you win, Cheetos, in all your powdered cheese, crunchy goodness, soul-warming, anthropomorphized cheetah way.

Until next time, CPM