I Can Be Petty

You knew that, right? I’m not lollipops and rainbows all the time. Sometimes I can be petty.

Two wrongs don’t make a right and all that, but sometimes when someone hurts me, my heart shrinks three sizes and I think to myself “Self, two can play at that game.” And sometimes I do. Even if the games we two are playing at aren’t fun. Even if the games are more like missile strikes than Nerf darts. And so it is.

Last week I was betrayed. In a big way. It hurt. I could have taken the high road, but I didn’t. Perhaps my moral compass was using Apple’s I06.  I played dirty, and I don’t feel good about it. Well, maybe a little good. But still betrayed and angry and powerless and frustrated. All without an Oxford comma, or any comma at all. Because, my grammar and punctuation-loving friends, misery loves company. I know that was a low blow, and I will be sorry next week. Really. I will be. I’ll even use extra commas to make up for it. But for the moment, I am comma-less.

You know how it is when you’re in love? And everything is all wonderful and sweet, and you want things to stay just as they are forever? And then you find out that the object of your affection doesn’t feel the same way? Yeah, they’re all about the change. But they don’t come out and tell you directly. They go behind your back, all sneaky-like, and you find out after it’s too late. They’ve started something new, and there’s no going back. That’s what I’m sitting with today.

Last week, I discovered that MoonPies have gone to single deckers. Single. Deckers.  I know. That means instead of there being two layers of marshmallow sandwiched between graham crackers the way God intended, there is only one. What is the point, friends? What is the point?  What if the dudes who built the pyramids had said “Meh, let’s stop with the ground floor and make it a rancher?”  Would anybody have cared about those pharaohs? Probably not. Because those pyramids would have been looted the day after said-dead pharaoh was planted, and Kind Tut would have been just another dried out dead guy.

It’s the same with MoonPies. Without that extra layer of marshmallowy goodness (shut up, spell check. For today, marshmallowy is a word. Can’t you see that I am hurting here?), the freshness is stolen away in a matter of days, dried out like a pharaoh in the Egyptian desert. So instead of buying a box that I can hide for a month or more, I am forced to eat one a day. And I’m getting a little sick of them.

So, MoonPies, you think you can do this to me? You think I can pick up a box and not notice that the pies are exactly 1/3 fewer calories? You thought I wouldn’t care that I’m paying the same money for less product? We’ve met, right? Two can play at this game. I bought a box of Hostess cupcakes. And I like them.

Just remember, MoonPies, you started it.

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