Time for a grocery shop

Joel and I have a joint bank account, but separate cupboards for our snacks. Joel goes through snacks like air, and I have taken to buying chips for him in the same way that I buy milk or tomatoes.

I, on the other hand, am a hoarder. This stems from a childhood with very little pocket money, so I would have to hoard everything that came into my hands for free in case I needed it later. Like, I might need some candy corn in, oh, say, February. And the last thing I want is Joel eating my carefully-hoarded tasties. Like, what if I need some cheddar-flavored mini rice cakes (dusted carefully with cocaine) and he's eaten them, and I have to wait until we go grocery shopping again, or I have to walk down to the Walmart? So he doesn't eat them, and they are there for when I need them.

Today I needed some cheddar-flavored mini rice cakes (with cocaine), but when I went to my cupboard, the non-descript yellow bag that I'd thought was cheddar-flavored mini rice cakes (with cocaine) was actually all-dressed mini rice cakes (which lack that certain addictive punch). Apparently the last time we were in the store, I wanted to try something new, forgetting that by the time I got around to eating the mini rice cakes, my desire for novelty would be in the trash with the couscous, and I'd want my cheddar-flavored mini rice cakes (with cocaine).

Alas. I wept. I gnashed my teeth. I rended my garments. And then I did the unthinkable.

I went into Joel's cupboard, looking for cheddar-flavored mini rice cakes (with cocaine). There were none. There was only a half-full bag of dill chips (ick) and a bag of ketchup-flavored mini rice cakes (uckers).

I am bereft.