Hot n Spicy!

I just opened a bag of potato chips for myself. The bag says, "Bold n' Spicy BBQ Potato Chips" in big yellow and orange letters and in red at the bottom it convinces me that inside is "Great Flavor!" So what was I to do--turn it down?
I can't recall the last time I opened myself a bag of chips. I must've been about fifteen, it was so long ago. That was before I became calorie conscious. Those were the days when all food meant to me was something delicious that would play with my tastebuds and give me momentary heaven (or in the case of amazing food, categorizable memories).
I opened the bag and felt my balloon of excitement pop, break, and fall in limp pieces of rubber on the ground at the sorry site of the potato chips inside. They were rippled. I HATE RIPPLED CHIPS!
But, of course, I ate them anyway. And they did, as the bag told me in two places, have "great flavor." I put each chip, some I had to break so that I wouldn't be overdoing it, into my mouth alone and allowed the bar-be-que flavored chemicals to melt on my tongue like snowflakes. Bliss, I tell you.
And then I wrote about my experience with potato chips, read it, and realized that I compared potato chips to snowflakes and came to the conclusion that between doing that, wearing open-toe shoes in 58* weather, and having a mind possessing behind, I am definately weird.

MFK Fisher in her essay "Once a Tramp, Always..."

"I can taste-smell-hear-see and then feel between my teeth the potato chips I ate slowly one November afternoon in 1936, in the bar of the Lausanne Palace. They were uneven both in thickness and in color, probably made by a new apprentice in the hotel kitchen, and almost surely they smelled faintly of either chicken or fish, for that was always the case there. They were a little too salty, to encourage me to drink. They were ineffable. I am still nourished by them. That is probably why I can be so firm about not eating my way through barrels, tunnels, mountains more of them here in the land where they hang like square cellophane fruit on wire trees in all the grocery stores, to tempt me sharply every time I pass them."