When did I turn into a chip person?
You know, someone who keeps chips in the house. I never used to do that. I’d eat chips at a party, but I wouldn’t go buy them at the store. They’re junk food, and go against my college-girl-on-a-diet training, which is: pretzels and rice cakes only.
I think the gateway snack was Pretzel Crisps.
You can see how that would happen: they’re pretzels, but they’re also flat chips. They get you (if you’re me), and your mouth, used to the idea that you are a chip eater.
And then, you transition to Stacey’s Pita Chips, which seem healthy because a) they’re “baked, not fried”, and b) for some reason, you think anything made from pita must be healthy, because pita is usually stuffed with falafel. Which, being deep fried, is not at all healthy, but enjoys a health food “halo effect” because it’s often nestled in a bed of alfalfa sprouts, aka nature’s pubes. Why would anyone choose to choke those down if they weren’t healthy?
Vegetarians love them, and love pita, so any pita product must be holistically awesome.
Anyway, from pita chips, it was only a natural step to Chipins, which are triangles of pressed popcorn. Let’s not kid ourselves. They’re true chips. With a meaningless “ins” on the end. I tried some free samples of the cheddar ones at the store, and had to buy a bag.
Now, I’m a full-on chip person.
I don’t just have chips in the house. I have a house full of chips.
I started buying them regularly at Garden of Eden, the only place I’ve found them, and may single-handedly have wiped them out.
When they ran out of cheddar, I started buying the jalapeno ranch out of desperation. Too spicy, but same Chipins texture.
Paying for the last bag of those, I informed the cashier, “you guys are out of Chipins.”
Like she cared.
I asked the stock guy to reorder them, and rationed my remaining supply slowly, but after a couple of weeks, I was out and so was Garden of Eden, still.
Yes. This is where the story gets tense.
I looked Chipins up online, not necessarily to buy them, but to look at pictures of them because I missed them. But then I saw that Amazon had them.
The catch: you have to buy in bulk. Twelve 7-oz bags to an order. Which didn’t seem like so much when I clicked “SUBMIT ORDER.”
A couple of days later, Steven came home and said:
“Take a look at what fifty bags of chips looks like.”
Behind him in the hallway was a giant crate, about 3 feet by 3 feet, which he kicked through the door like a football.
“Yay!” I said. “My Chipins!”
Two things about me that really bug my husband: my tendency for excess, and my constant accumulation of “stuff.” He hates stuff. In fact, that week, he’d just gotten rid of a bunch of stuff.
In a panic to get all that cardboard out of his sight, he ripped open the box right away and started unloading the chips.
“What the hell are you going to do with all these?” he said. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m gonna eat them,” I said.
He’d already torn into a bag and started chowing them aggressively.
“Where are you going to put them? In the basement? You’d better find a place for them. Start giving them away to the doormen.”
“No! We have room for them.”
I opened the front hall closet.
“Where? If you’re going to put them in there you have to clean it out first. There’s no room.”
“Sure there is.”
I pulled out my wheelie suitcase.
“No. No. You are NOT putting chips in a suitcase,” he insisted, cramming more into his mouth like an angry Cookie Monster. Crumbs were flying out.
“Why not? It’s empty space. You’ll never know they’re in there.”
“It’s gross. What if we get in an accident and die, and they have to go through our stuff? They’ll find a suitcase full of chips.”
“Yeah. They’ll think we liked Chipins, and made really good use of space. Both true.”
I stuffed eight bags of chips in the suitcase, and zipped it with no problem. So now I know how many Chipins I can bring on a plane.
The others, I tried to put in the oven, but Steven wouldn’t stand for it. A suitcase is one thing, but only the sickest kind of hoarders keep chips in the oven. I found room in the pots and pans cabinet, which is where I also stash extra rolls of paper towels and boxes of Breath Assure capsules, another item I had to order in bulk. (I have problems digesting garlic.)
As I write this somewhat pointless post, I’m eating my Chipins, with the freedom of someone who will never run out. To me, that’s happiness: being fully stocked.
Do you agree?
Do you fear running out of things you like, and buy them in ridiculous quantities? Are you a chip person? Do you worry about what people will find in your home if you die suddenly?
Tell me in the comments.
Also: If Steven and I are in a plane crash or get eaten by sharks, will someone please preserve my husband’s honor by removing the purple suitcase in our front closet? You can keep the Chipins. They’re really good.