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.

 

 

Let Me Eat Cake!

Hold me back from chocolate cakes,
Brownies, cookies, nuts, and shakes.
Help me know that if I eat
My waist will soon obscure my feet.

It shames me some to have to tell
That I weigh on the Richter scale.
So pork chops, have no fear of me
Roasts and cutlets can run free

NO! I do not have the will to try it,
I would rather die than diet.
You can sit there if you please
Eating fruit and cottage cheese
A celery stalk, a carrot stick
The vision fairly makes me sick

As for me I’ll roast and fry
And feast on pizza, cake, and pie
I’ll gorge until my zippers bust
And then remove them if I must
But til that dreadful day shall be
I’ll spend my time with Sara Lee.

Happy Thanksgiving to All and to All a Good Bite!

Beauty Buffet

My mother religiously practiced the Pond’s 7-day Beauty Plan for forty years. I figure if it didn’t work for her in four decades it won’t do me any good to jump on it as a last resort. I wash my face with whatever soap product is melting in the dish and leave off my glasses when I look in the mirror. For all I know, I look terrific.

Why is it that some of us inherit all the withered branches a family tree has to offer and the slobbering weasels of the family get all the good stuff? I got my mom’s body type and the shape of her legs, which were like parentheses from the knees down and crescent rolls from the knees up. I can look in the mirror and see all the food groups represented in my body. Don’t think I enjoy sitting on this rump roast.

With as many can’t miss beauty plans advertised on the market today, it seems like I could find one that would turn my rolls into flatbread. There are plenty of doctors willing to gather up all the folds and trim off the excess. The whole thing seems to be sort of like making a pie crust. Anything that hangs over the sides gets lopped off and redistributed to more deserving areas. They should be able to fashion extra people with all the extra material. We could harvest enough excess flesh from my thighs to create Victoria’s Secret models that resemble humans instead of uncooked spaghetti.

I finally found a beauty routine that seemed likely to make a difference. You use an avocado, two slices of cucumber, and a tomato, and serve it with a large pan of burritos. You won’t be any better looking, but with everybody crowding the buffet table at your dinner parties, no one will notice.

Let Me Eat Cake

Hold me back from chocolate cakes,
Brownies, cookies, nuts, and shakes.
Help me know that if I eat
My waist will soon obscure my feet.
It shames me some to have to tell
That I weigh on the Richter scale.
So pork chops, have no fear of me
Roasts and cutlets can run free
NO! I do not have the will to try it,
I would rather die than diet.

You can sit there if you please
Eating fruit and cottage cheese
A celery stalk, a carrot stick
The vision fairly makes me sick
As for me I’ll roast and fry
And feast on pizza, cake, and pie
I’ll gorge until my zippers bust
And then remove them if I must
But til that dreadful day shall be
I’ll spend my time with Sara Lee.