I do not like to have chip-and-cookie-like snacks in the house, because I have no abilities of moderation, and if they are there then I will eat them, and then I will get fat and then I will have to buy new jeans and it will not be one of those fun shopping trips because I will have to buy jeans that I do not look good in, because I am fat.
Joel likes to have chip-and-cookie-like snacks in the house because he is a boy and a foot taller than me and could eat a bucket of trans-fats without breaking stride.
So we keep the chip-and-cookie-like snacks in a cupboard that I am too short to reach, and when I want a chip-or-cookie I have to hoist my bum up onto the little wedge of counter that is left after the toaster oven and kitchen aid have had their say, and put my foot on the sink, not in the part where you wash the dishes, but on the part in front of that part, so that I don't fall down while I'm reaching for the chips. I like to think that this little maneuver requires more caloric energy to execute than is contained in the amount of chips I am going to eat. However, putting the chips away requires more of the same, since throwing a half-full chip bag with its paper-clip antennae waving merrily back into an over-stuffed chip shelf constitutes one of those skills-I-do-not-have, and because I am profoundly lazy, I usually just eat the whole damn bag, so probably not.