WONDER-FULL

Dear Wonder® Bread People,

First, let me acknowledge that I’m aware I eat wrong. You can generally view the day’s menu offerings cascading down the front of my shirt like Niagara Falls after the spring thaw. I consider gravy an accessory and ketchup splotches a classic look akin to Coco Chanel’s little black dress. So it could be my fault.

I checked the package. You said I could put all the toppings I want on your extra soft bun. You DID NOT say that mayonnaise would melt the fibers of the bread like hot butter on a brown biscuit. Imagine the difficulties involved in holding enough pieces of bread together to make a fair-sized quilt while keeping the meat from jettisoning out the back of the bun into the drooling mouth of the hippo-sized terrier waiting in hope beside my chair.

The onions, seasoned and grilled to glistening perfection moments before, oozed down my arms into my lap, and since onions are on the doggie no-fly list, I engaged in evasive maneuvers to prevent them from becoming dog chow. This action resulted in a perky elbow flap repetition reminiscent of the Chicken Dance that is so popular at parties.

As I was waving my elbows to prevent the onset of onion catastrophe and rearranging my fingers like I was playing a flute solo in order to keep my bun from launching into space, a potato chip dropped to the floor. Since it was covered in the sort of barbecue that elicits unspeakable lethal aromas from the dog in question, I shuffled my feet to keep dog and potato chip from joining forces. If I had those moves all the time, I would be champion of my Dance, Dance video.

Meanwhile, my son strolled into the kitchen just in time to catch my Bun Dance, and although your buns are enriched, mine are not, so I regret the video that is set to trend on all available social media.

Wonder People, let’s be friends. I’m not interested in achieving the status of Thanksgiving Queen Sharon, whose burnt Marie Callendar pumpkin pie set the Internet on fire along with her dinner. I just want to know the peace of launching into my lunch without having the bun split down the middle like the Earth in a dinosaur-era meteor strike.

Let's get together on this. All people could benefit from a warning label on your package right beside the picture-perfect hamburger overflowing with condiments.

“Caution: Cracked Buns May Go Viral!"

Thank You.