The Revenge of the Fish

I love Goldfish® crackers.

I love them in a bag.

I love them in a box.

I love them in a carton.

I love them in the multi-p(ox).*

But, apparently, Goldfish® crackers do not suffer forever the rampant gormandizing of our species. Sometimes, they fight back.

Yesterday, I fell victim to one such attack. It was an ordinary day. Because I work from home, I eat meals at irregular intervals throughout the working day, often while continuing to work at my laptop. I had placed a business call and, as is often the case, reached voicemail. The subject of the call was timely, so I was determined not to miss the return call. But, around the lunch hour, I paused from my other tasks to snack on some innocent-looking Whole Grain Cheddar Goldfish® crackers.

Innocent, my foot.

As soon as I had [delicately placed] [one] goldfish crackers in my mouth and had begun to chew, a horrible thing happened. Triggered by a secret invisible pulse signal from the devious fish, the cell phone sitting beside me lit up and began to ring.

If you have ever tried to speak to someone immediately after consuming a saltine cracker, you know what comes next. Attempts to swallow quickly are futile. Desperate to take the call and discontinue the game of phone tag, I had no chance against the evil carassius auratus auratus. A nearby napkin was my only hope.

I will spare you the rest of the tale, for it is not for the ears of the genteel. Suffice it to say that I will never again take arms against [the inhabitants of] a sea of troubles. Or, at least, I will wait until EOB to do so.


*But for the failed rhymes, the Pepperidge Farm® website reads a little bit like a Dr. Seuss book, if a Dr. Seuss book were littered with registered trademark symbols.

Published by Jen

The author of Snark on the Side is not your average run-of-the-millennial generation. Jen is a contradiction in terms: a graceful klutz, a smart blond, a math-savvy English degree-holder, a southern liberal, and an adult amateur equestrian who doesn’t match her saddle pads. Snark on the Side is a work in progress, born out of years of rambling email newsletters and anthropomorphized Christmas letters, small town observations, and the ever-present irony of pursuing a career with a degree in English literature. Thanks for visiting!

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