Peanuts, Popcorn, Cracking Up

I don't know that you can read this bag, but its a bag of roasted peanuts IN the shell. How do they salt peanuts that are on the inside of a shell? No idea. What I do know is that we had a few of these last night while lying in bed. Humanling, being born of an extremely privledged era, never had to crack the shells before. We thought it would be fun in the way that buying a jiffy popcorn aluminum tin that puffs up on the stove top would be fun.

Shuffling around the kitchen tonight (yes shuffling. I am practicing so that when I'm eighty I have it down to a science) I decided to check out the peanuts since I'm in a munchie kinda mood. I took the first one out and it was one of those male ones...without the hourglass shape. Just a lump of a shell. I didn't feel like expending much energy on that so put it back (for who? Its just me and a nine year old up in this place. If I can't open it, next in line is the fire department down the road. Or my Organic friend. She's eerily strong and I feel like a complete infant trying to open a jar around her.) and took out a female. And a feather. A Farking feather. Holy carps alive.

Now I know we have a down blanket in the bedroom where we were eating the nuts last night but how can I be sure that this is OUR feather? I never see feathers in the bed. And I shouldn't see them in a bag of nuts, although I will say THANK GOD they are in their shells. Now I know why the back of the bag says "Good Source of Protein".

What I had a hard time doing after finding this nightmare to my soul in a bag, was following the happy bag's instructions to "Sit back, relax and enjoy!"

Um, no.

Was the feather to FAN myself while eating the peanuts? Was it to stick in my Yankee Doodle hat while not calling a spade a spade, but calling it Macaroni? Was it to tape to my wall so that I could imagine that I was on an island somewhere while eating my salted inside the shell peanuts and a seagull is flying by and drops a nasty arse feather into my lap?

I must have my OCD under some kinda control because normally I would have thrown the bag across the room and then waited for a friend to come over and clean it. Or go pick up Cavey sometime this week and have him throw it out.

I'm afraid that this whole incident is going to drive me to wash my hands fifteen more times and then have a cookie.