black bird singing in the dead of night

Just a comment on the recent push to put healthy snacks in vending machines. Fast food normally means way too much salt, way too much starch, way too much fat, way too much sugar. And way way way too much in the way of preservatives; how else to maintain the five year shelf life of the average cheeto. And when a person has no willpower over such offerings when hunger rears its ugly head, well, while I don’t completely agree that this area of my life should be yet another place where the dadguvment steps in, I guess it was just one more step in a long line of “it’s for your own good” legislation.

And so, actually, I was glad when hubby recently requested that I pack carrot sticks and celery sticks with his lunch. Seems he’s determined to not only drop a few pounds but also reduce his blood pressure readings. (Since you asked, yes, reason being the upcoming annual for the Guard; although for the life of me I can’t figure how he thinks being “good” for a month can undo the “ungood” of the previous eleven.)

Unfortunately for me and the weekly food budget, his intentions were, well, you know what they say about good intentions. At the end of the week was left with three of five containers that he had taken with him and then brought back home, unopened, untouched, with sticks now too soft to crunch and so not fit for human consumption. Threw them into the back yard in hopes resident rabbit would appreciate the treat. Poor bunny never got a chance. Who knew crows would eat carrots and celery? And not just eat them but fight over the crumbs.

Hmmmm. I suppose the moral of this story is: that’s why I’ve never seen a crow too fat to fly.

And not that it has anything to do with anything, except that this title is stuck in my head and all morning I’ve been channeling Paul McCartney, but I really don’t like this time of year. Send hubby to work in the dark and it’s dark before he gets home. Who ever decided to put off ending daylight savings until November? Shame, shame.