I've come to the conclusion that chips, of the crunchy and/or salty variety, should not, for any reason, taste like fruit. The issue initially came to my attention at Target last week, where I was confronted with yet another of Frito-Lay's schemes to make themselves seem like they're not the only company manufacturing chips. The chips "brand" is called Flat Earth, and its logo is a flying pig. And because it's trendy for all forms of food and restaurants to have a story behind them, their story, printed on the back of the bag of chips, goes something like this: a small group of passionate women, avid chip eaters the lot of them, decided they wanted healthy chips, and so blended potatoes, rice, and fruit (all dried, of course) into one. And then they called them "fruit crisps." I'm guessing this not because British people use the word 'crisps,' but more likely because 'chips,' in relation to fruit, usually involve massive amounts of oil. Just look at banana chips.

Though I found myself pretty repulsed, I also had a mild curiosity. What, I wondered, would Peach Mango Paradise baked fruit crisps taste like? And so, against my better judgment, I decided to find out. Here's what they taste like: disgusting. If I was an animal in the wild, I would die because I can't, apparently, follow my own instincts.

It's been a week now, and the chips remain on top of the refrigerator, largely untouched. Because rice, potato, and mango is just about the worst combination of food in the entire universe. There's a reason it had never been tried before; it tends to make people gag.

In my previously weakened and sick state, I didn't give much thought as to what I was going to do with the 'crisps.' I have no desire to eat them, but then again, I don't want to throw away FDA-approved edibles. This morning at work, I thought that maybe I could bring the crisps to work and leave them out for people to eat. With any luck, people would devour the entire bag, and my problem would be solved.

While pondering, aloud, what I would do if there was any left over, Robert reminded me that I could leave them out in the open in my office over night. The custodian who cleans my office at work has a penchant for stealing, though his thefts are a bit unusual. Given his history of stealing chocolate, coffee, gross donut holes from the local grocery, bottled water, and juice boxes, we reasoned that maybe he'd also free me of the burden of the fruity chips. I can't think of anything cooler than a guilt-free way to get rid of stuff I don't want. Instead of cursing this guy, I'll be thanking him. Not to mention taking advantage of him. Which, really, is justifiable.

During the boring lunch meeting at work today, I found myself envisioning walking in to work the day after tomorrow and rushing to the place I had left them, to see if they were gone. It must have been a pretty vivid vision, because suddenly I was no longer at the meeting. I may have, in the vision, made a certain "yes!!" gesture that comprised of my moving my right hand, which was in a fist in front of my eyes, downward in a victorious fashion. I say this because about half-way through the meeting, I did this without really thinking about what I was doing. My fist connected with the paper plate that held my mostly eaten veggie sandwich, all that remained of which was the lettuce that didn't taste very good and some small crusts of bread. My fist connected with the part of the plate nearest me, and lettuce, dressing, and bread went flying through the air right at me. Luckily, I managed to remain deadpan, and meekly went about mopping my lettuce-covered self up. I hate it when that happens.

Anyway, I know what I'll be doing tomorrow. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and my breath bated. This could get good. If it works, the rolls and fruit I no longer want might just end up sharing the fate of my beloved fruit crisps.