You know Cuties, right? They're like miniature oranges that are really easy to peel. Like somewhere between ping pong ball and cue ball size.
So I'm going to the grocery store and The Wife says "Hey, pick us up some of those Cuties. I want Cuties." So I was like sure and I got a bag of Cuties.
FIRST OBSERVATION: There are a LOT OF FUCKING CUTIES in a bag of Cuties.
This picture doesn't even do it justice. There must be 30, 40 Cuties in that bag. THAT'S A LOT OF MINIATURE ORANGES.
I hate to see things go to waste, so now my life is all about How Many Cuties I Can Throw Down in One Day. Now, admittedly, they are small - you can eat one in 3 or 4 bites - but it starts to get to be a slog. Like, I had 5 yesterday and I feel a little guilty. HAVE ANOTHER CUTIE SON. I'm actually eating one right now.
Things have gotten a little tense. The Wife is leaving for work and I say, "HOW MANY CUTIES ARE YOU TAKING WITH YOU?" She looks a little startled.
"Um, three Cuties?"
"NO YOU TAKE FOUR CUTIES, YOU HEAR ME? YOU NEED TO EAT AT LEAST FOUR MOTHERFUCKING CUTIES TODAY."
She didn't eat any Cuties yesterday. Situation grim.
UPDATE: I had two this morning. Seven left. Going out for a while. When I come back, EIGHT LEFT, I bet. Cuties are the endless menorah oil that keeps refilling itself of fruit. (Isn't that the story? I'm not clear on that story. Help me out, Jews.)